What Is in the Marrow
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Written for the NFA In Sickness Challenge. Another epic. Already complete and will post one chapter per day. Character based, not case centered. Tim centered as usual. Now complete.
1. Prologue: Diagnosis

**A/N: **Written for the NFA In Sickness Challenge. It's pretty much my standard: angst, fear, teamwork, family, etc. etc. Tim-centered...as always. One difference is that this is not case-based. It's about my first multi-chapter fic that does not center around a case. It is all about the people. I hope you like it anyway. I have done a lot of research for this one, but I have no practical experience. If I've gotten something hugely wrong, feel free to tell me.

**Disclaimer:** I do not now, nor will I ever own NCIS whether the real thing or the series. More's the pity. Maybe if I'm really good I'll get it for Christmas. :)

* * *

**What Is in the Marrow  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Prologue: Diagnosis**

"The tests are back."

"And?"

"Well, you're right."

There was no happiness in knowing that...only dread. "I am?"

"Yeah...AML. Fairly advanced."

A sigh...a _very_ long sigh. "You have the death warrant ready?"

"It's not a death sentence."

"It's not?" He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees.

"Now, I refuse to believe that you didn't look up _every_ possible diagnosis before even setting foot in my office. You know the details already."

"It's different hearing it from you...instead of some random online medical site."

"Better?"

"Only because I know you're reliable."

He smiled. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. What now?"

"Now? Take a couple of days and let it sink in. Tell your friends and family. They'll need to know. Talk to Mandy out in the office and schedule your next appointment. It's going to be a rough few months and we'll want to get started fairly soon."

"Yeah."

"Hey, remission happens more often than it doesn't. There's no reason to think that you couldn't fight it off and live the rest of your life without it."

He laughed. "Remissions almost always fail at least once."

"Let's not put the cart before the horse. Let's get you there first, okay?" The doctor stood up and walked around his desk. "This isn't the end of the world."

"Three of my grandparents died of cancer."

"That doesn't mean that _you _will." The doctor squeezed his arm. "This is a shock, I know. It always is, even if you know it's a possibility. Tell your family and friends. Let them help."

"Doctor's orders?" He stood.

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Enjoy the rest of your weekend...if you can."

"I'll try." He shook the doctor's hand and walked out of his office. After scheduling his next appointment, he walked out into the sunshine. It was supposed to be a beautiful weekend...perfect weather. _How can I enjoy the weekend, knowing this?_

Acute. Myeloid. Leukemia.

Cancer.

Timothy McGee looked around at all the normal...non-cancerous people walking on the streets and he wondered why it was that he already felt cut off from them.

The reason came out as a simple whispered declaration.

"I have cancer."


	2. Chapter 1: Confessions

**Chapter 1: Confessions**

_Sunday..._

Tim knew where his family was. He knew basically what they'd be doing. It was summertime. Sarah was home for a visit, goofing off, seeing old friends. Sam hadn't started his summer course yet and so he'd be filling the hours with research. Naomi would be switching between tearing her hair out at the two people invading her territory and trying to plan some time when she could either drag Tim home or could get all them out to DC. She tried to plan a family reunion every summer. She had not yet succeeded. They'd all more than likely be home.

Tim knew all that, but he'd been staring at his phone for the past hour, trying to work up the courage to call them and tell them his news. The diagnosis actually followed on the heels of a solid month of lethargy, weight loss and general illness. He'd probably taken more sick days in the last four weeks than he had in the last four years. ...and he hadn't mentioned his fears to anyone. They'd hate that. It wasn't even that he was trying to hide something from them. It was that he had thought...or rather _hoped_...that he was simply overreacting, that he'd worn himself out and needed a vacation or something like that. Even though, as his doctor had said, he _had_ looked at all the different possibilities, he hadn't really seriously considered cancer as a likely outcome.

Putting it off wouldn't make it any easier to say. He picked up his phone and dialed.

Sarah was laughing when she answered.

"Hello, McGee residence."

"Sarah?"

"Hey, Tim! You'll never guess what Dad just did."

Tim closed his eyes and swallowed. He wanted to just tell her to shut up, but maybe a joke would make it easier...probably not.

"What?"

Sarah laughed again and he could hear some commotion in the background. "He was showing off, trying to wheel Mom around and ended up tipping his chair over. Mom's on bottom."

Tim laughed weakly. "Is she okay?"

"Of course. Dad's pride is hurt more than Mom's body. What's up?"

"Tell..." Tim stopped. He really didn't want to ruin their weekend, but he knew he needed to tell them. He paused too long.

"What is it, Tim?"

"Tell Mom and Dad to get on the extensions."

"What's going on?" Sarah was no longer laughing...at all.

"Just tell them." He heard her calling to them and he heard the laughter fade away as if it had never been there. In seconds, his parents had picked up the other two extensions.

"What's up, Tim?" Naomi asked.

"Mom...I went to the doctor yesterday. You remember how I told you I was feeling under-the-weather this past month?"

"Yes, I remember. You said you were probably just worn out."

"Yeah...I said that. It wasn't that."

"What is it, then, Tim?" Sam asked.

"I have cancer."

The silence was deafening. Tim couldn't say anything else himself. He just sat and waited for the reactions.

"What...what kind?" Naomi asked, the first to recover...as usual.

"Leukemia. Acute myeloid leukemia."

"What does that mean?" Sarah asked in a whisper.

"It means I get to go bald," Tim said, trying to make a joke. No one laughed.

"How long have you known?" Sam asked.

"The test results came in yesterday. Yesterday afternoon. I was trying to...figure out how to say it."

"Well..." Naomi said, with artificial cheer, "...I suppose planning a family reunion will be a little bit easier this year. We'll know exactly where you are."

"Or it could be harder. You'll know exactly where I am."

"All depends on how you look at it, Tim," she replied. "What happens now? Do you want us to be there?"

"Yes, but not yet," Tim said quickly. "I have another appointment this week and we'll figure everything out, schedule-wise. I'll let you know, and I'll...I'll tell you what happens."

"Have you told your friends yet?" Sam asked.

"That's tomorrow's task," Tim said grimly. "I'm going to tell them. Honest."

"You'd better. They won't like being left out," Sarah said.

"Yeah, I know."

"How are you doing, Tim?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I've been tired and...and sick for a month. Today was one of my better days."

"But...how are you _doing_?" Sam repeated.

Tim breathed in deeply and let it out in a shaky exhalation. "I'm really scared, Dad."

"So am I...but we'll get through it. _You'll_ get through it."

"Right. Right, Dad."

None of them had anything else to say. Really, what _was_ there to say? _I'm sorry you could be dying?_

"I guess I'll...go...do some more research," Tim said, finally.

"What was the name of your cancer again?"

"Acute myeloid leukemia. They were hoping for acute promyelocytic leukemia which has a higher cure rate and is more common in young adults, but..."

"Those names don't exactly roll off the tongue, do they," Sam said, gently cutting off his ramble.

"It gets easier when you repeat them a few times," Tim responded.

"I'm sure it does. Call us...call us when you know what's going to happen...or if you just need to talk."

"I will, Dad. Love you."

There were murmured _love you_s back and then Tim hung up. It was only when he'd disconnected that he realized his dad hadn't made any quotations. He must have been _really_ shocked.

One group down...and that was the _easy_ group. Tim put down the phone and leaned on his computer desk, bringing his hands to his head.

"How am I going to tell everyone else?" he asked aloud.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Monday..._

Tim woke up feeling like crap. That wasn't unusual. He'd felt sick more often than he'd felt well the last few weeks. Some days, it went away. Today was _not_ one of those days. It was really hard to drag himself out of bed and to the bathroom to get ready for the day. It had almost become common practice for him to feel like this, go to work and then turn around and come back home. He knew that Gibbs was watching him more closely, lately. If it wasn't for the fact that he wanted to tell everyone today, he would have just called and said that he was sick...again.

"I can do this," he said to his reflection. "Just say it. I have cancer. I have cancer." Tim nodded a few times and then closed his eyes to hold back the tears. "I have cancer," he repeated softly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim got to NCIS early, and he tried to work, but he really felt terrible. Maybe it was just knowing now what he had. Maybe the knowledge was making him feel even worse.

"Probie, you're not looking so hot today," Tony observed as he walked in. That was an all-too-common assessment of late.

"Really, Tony, thanks. I wasn't aware," Tim said wearily and rubbed his temples. He felt the presence of someone at his desk and looked up. Tony was looking at him with great concern.

"McGee, are you all right? You've been...looking like crap for a long time."

_That's as good an opening as any, although I had hoped to get away with only saying this once...maybe twice._ He stood up. "No, Tony, I..."

"Grab your gear, we have a possible murder out at Anacostia," Gibbs said abruptly as he walked into the bullpen. He looked over at Tim and a look of concern flashed across his face. "Are you okay, McGee?"

"No, Boss," Tim said again. "I was just about to say that..."

The elevator doors opened again and Ziva and Abby both came in together. Attention again diverted, the men looked over at the two women.

"Are you sure it is 'getting down to brass _tacks'_?" Ziva asked.

"I'm positive," Abby said.

"Then, _what_ does it mean?"

"It means that you're getting down to business."

"Why?"

"Uh..." Abby looked over. "Tim, what does 'getting down to brass tacks' mean? If you don't know, I'm sure Ducky will... And you're not looking so good. You sick again?"

"Abby is right, McGee. You _do _look ill...again. What is wrong today?"

"I'm trying to tell you..." Tim started but had to stop and catch his breath. He wasn't sure if it was because of the normality of the morning making this task so much harder or if it was because he was just short of breath.

"Tim, you're pale," Abby said. She pushed him back down onto his chair. "You going to pass out?"

Tim closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. I'm not." Tim laughed. "I finally have everyone's attention, but I don't know how to say it."

"Say what, McGee?" Tony asked.

Tim opened his eyes and looked at them all. "I have cancer."

There was the same disbelieving silence from his friends as he had from his family...only this time he could see their faces. He could see the shock, the fear, in their expressions as his eyes moved from person to person...the desire to deny what had just been said.

He saw that it was up to him to break the silence. "I have a type of leukemia. It's called acute myeloid leukemia or AML. That's why I've been so sick this last month."

Still, no one spoke. They just stared.

Tim tried again. "My doctor told me on Saturday. I have another appointment tomorrow." He looked at Gibbs. "Boss, will that be okay? If I miss work for that?"

Gibbs finally seemed to snap out of his shock. "Of course, Tim. That will be fine."

"What's going to happen, Tim?" Abby asked, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

"That's part of what I'll find out tomorrow, but I know there will be chemotherapy...and _that_ means being sick for at _least_ another month." Somehow, seeing them all so shocked made Tim feel _less_ shocked. He mustered up a smile. "And I won't have to worry about doing my hair either." There were tears near the end of the sentence and Abby hugged him tightly.

"Going back to the buzz cut, Probie?" Tony asked, trying to bring the conversation out of the doldrums into which it had fallen.

"More like the _no_ cut, Tony. It's pretty much certain that _all _my hair is going to fall out."

"Well, _that_ will be easy to maintain."

Tim nodded, shaking loose a tear. "Yeah, that's probably why they do it."

"I'm sure it is."

Gibbs smacked Tony on the back of the head...but not very hard. "We still have a dead body in Anacostia. McGee, you feel up to it?"

"Honestly, Boss?"

Gibbs looked at Tim closely. He nodded. "Okay. Tony, Ziva, let's go."

Ziva had said nothing through the whole exchange. She had simply stared. As she slowly turned to follow Tony and Gibbs, Tim caught her eye. He didn't say anything more, but he smiled comfortingly at her. She managed only a brief upturning of her lips in reply before she spun around and left.

"What are you going to do now, Tim?"

Tim tore his eyes off the closed elevator doors and looked back at Abby. "Oh...well, I need to tell Jimmy and Ducky and then..." He took another deep breath. "...then, I need to...request extended sick leave...and..." Abby looked at him sympathetically, and Tim felt the tears getting closer to the surface. "...and...well...I'll need to fill out some forms, maybe get my mail stopped while I'm in the hospital and...help my parents find a place to stay when they come...and..." the words petered out. "I'm scared, Abby. I have cancer. I keep saying it, thinking that maybe it will seem more...more _real_, but it doesn't. It's like a nightmare...only I can't wake up." He stood up and tried to _will_ away the sickness inside him, knowing that it wouldn't work.

Abby slid an arm around his waist. "Do you want me to tell them for you?"

Tim shook his head. "No, I should do it myself...while I..." He clamped down on the words, but he might as well have said them... _while I still can_. "...while I'm still here...at work...today."

Abby knew exactly what he had been going to say, but she didn't comment. Instead, she kept her arm around his waist and directed him to the elevator. Tim didn't resist her assumption that she would go with him down to Autopsy. Truth be told, he could use the support.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Yes, Mr. Palmer, I do believe you are correct," Ducky was saying as Abby and Tim entered. "Cause of death was most definitely _not_ strangulation." Ducky looked up from the corpse he and Jimmy were examining. "Timothy, you look absolutely awful. _When_ are you going to take my advice and see a doctor?"

"I did, Ducky," Tim said.

Ducky didn't hear him. "It puts me in mind of a young man who ended up on my table a few years ago. He..."

"_Ducky_! I did."

"Oh. I see. And?"

"And..." Tim found he couldn't just say it like he had to the team. For some reason, he felt the need to explain. Maybe because it was Ducky...master of tangents, with five stories for every question asked...at least. "Well, after you told me to go see a doctor, I...made a few lists."

"Lists of what?" Ducky asked. He saw Abby's expression which was a combination of understanding and sadness. Jimmy simply looked confused.

"Symptoms. How long they lasted, severity, first signs, things like that. And then I...I went onto the Internet and made a list of all the possible diagnoses. There were enough serious possibilities that I decided you were right."

"Aren't I always?" Ducky observed, but he could sense a very serious trend in the conversation.

Tim smiled. "Generally. My doctor wasn't very happy about me doing all that, but I smoothed it over by telling him that I was only trying to be sure I wasn't wasting his time. He didn't take it too seriously, but he decided to humor me because..."

"Timothy," Ducky interrupted gently, "what did he say?"

Tim flushed, the redness bringing his pale face slightly closer to his usual coloring. "He ran some tests." Tim stopped again and looked at Abby who gestured for him to continue. "On Saturday, he gave me the results. I have cancer, Ducky. Leukemia."

There was a clatter as Jimmy dropped his scalpel to the floor.

"Sorry," he said quickly and picked it up. "I'm really sorry, McGee."

"Yes," Ducky agreed. "That must have come as quite a shock for you."

"Yeah...just a little," Tim said with an ironic grin. "Even though I knew it was _possible_...I never thought..."

"...that you could get cancer. Don't we all think that way, Timothy?"

"I guess. Anyway...I just wanted you both to know. I'll be gone for awhile."

"Which type?" Jimmy asked. When everyone stared at him, he gulped and added, "It's just that there are so many and some of them are more serious than others and..."

"It's okay, Palmer," Tim said, smiling a little. "Acute myeloid. I don't know which subtype."

"I wasn't going to ask," Jimmy said, blushing. "It's curable, though."

"Yeah, it is. Twenty-five to forty-five percent of cases, depending on medical history and severity of the disease."

"So, you could be all right," Jimmy insisted.

"You're right. I could be. Thanks." Tim turned back to the doors. "I won't be here tomorrow, and I'm not sure if I'll be back at all this week. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow morning...to discuss what's going to happen."

Ducky pulled off his gloves and put a gentle hand on Tim's shoulder. "Keep your chin up, Timothy. All will be well."

"I'll try to remember that, Ducky," Tim said and then he and Abby left once more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

After officially requesting extended sick leave, Tim felt so wiped out that he got Abby to give him a ride home. As he lay on his bed thinking about how quickly his life had changed, he found himself wondering something else.

_No one really said anything...I wonder they were thinking._


	3. Chapter 2: Denial and Acceptance

**A/N: **This story makes use of the OCs I created of Sam and Naomi McGee, originally seen in _Only an Accident_. It's not necessary to read that story to know them, but you _could_. Sam is paralyzed from the waist down and teaches English. Naomi works at home, but is very intelligent in her own right and is the more practical of the two. Sam and Naomi have also made appearances in _The Victim(s)_ and _How You Gonna Keep 'em Down on the Farm?_. They are not canon characters.

**A/N 2:** I used a variety of sources for the information that will be coming up in this story. First and foremost is the website for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I also used that online encyclopedic juggernaut known as Wikipedia, the National Library of Medicine, and a variety of other online sources. I am not a doctor and I have not had AML. Thus, I am no expert. I can only go by what I can find, but I have made every effort to be accurate.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Denial and Acceptance**

_Sunday..._

The McGees hung up the phone and, in silence, all gathered in the living room. Sarah sat down on the couch and drew her knees up to her chest. Naomi sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"Tim can't have _cancer_," Sarah said. "People like Tim don't _get_ cancer. It has to be a mistake."

"I don't think so, honey," Naomi said.

"Then, it's a joke. A really sick joke, but a joke."

Sam wheeled closer to the couch. "Sarah, do you really believe that your brother would make up something like this as joke?"

"No," Sarah whispered. "But...leukemia is what little kids and old people get...not my brother, not Tim."

"It probably is rare," Sam admitted, "but Tim always has been exceptional."

Sarah tried to laugh, but she started to cry instead. "Why didn't he want us to come yet?"

"Probably to avoid a scene like this, Sarah," Naomi said, wiping away a few tears herself. "I'm sure he wants us all to have time to accept it...and he probably wants to get all the information first."

"Why don't we just go anyway? It's not like he could stop us. I live there now, too. I could just go back."

"...but you won't, Sarah," Sam said firmly.

"Why not?"

"When was the last time that your brother actually admitted that he wanted us there, that he needed help?"

Sarah thought about it. She couldn't remember. "I don't know."

"That's because Tim _doesn't_ ask us for help. He's far too independent that way. He's too much like his mother," Sam smiled at Naomi who stuck out her tongue. "He's admitting that he needs help now, and we will show him the respect he deserves by coming when he asks...and _only_ when he asks. After all, President Truman said..."

"Oh, Dad..."

Sam just smiled and continued blithely, "'We must build a new world, a far better world - one in which the eternal dignity of man is respected.' We'll let Tim have his dignity now. It much will be harder for him to hold onto it later."

"Okay." Sarah let her legs drop to the floor. "I see your quoting muscles are working again."

"They were only stunned momentarily," Sam said.

"So...do you have one for what's happening now?" she asked.

Sam went solemn. "Yes. I do."

"What is it?" Naomi asked. "How many quotes about cancer do you know?"

"About cancer itself? None."

"Then, what is it, Dad?"

"Marcel Proust. 'It is in moments of illness that we are compelled to recognize that we live not alone but chained to a creature of a different kingdom, whole worlds apart, who has no knowledge of us and by whom it is impossible to make ourselves understood: our body.'"

"I'm not feeling any better, Dad."

Finally, a few tears escaped from Sam's eyes. "Neither is Tim, I'm sure."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Monday..._

No one said much on the drive to Anacostia. There wasn't much to say...actually there was _a lot_ to say, but no one could find the words. Ziva finally broke her silence.

"What can we do?"

"Cancer's not a criminal, Ziva. We can't arrest it and put it in prison," Tony said. "Unless you're a closet oncologist, you can't do anything."

"You're wrong, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "There's something we can do."

"What's that, Boss? Not even the patented Gibbs stare can make cancer go away. You can't intimidate it."

The light turn red at the intersection and Gibbs slammed the breaks. After they came to a very sudden stop, Gibbs looked at Tony.

"We don't have to make the cancer go away, Tony. We just have to be there."

Tony looked out the window and then back. "Well, of course we'll be there. We wouldn't leave Probie to muddle through on his own."

"Well, then, unless you plan on going to med school in the next week, DiNozzo, that's all anyone can expect."

The light turned green and the moment was over. Gibbs floored the gas and Tony and Ziva hung on for dear life.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As they examined the body of a petty officer at Anacostia, Ziva found herself thinking less about the case and more about Tim trying to smile at her...as if _she_ was the one who needed to feel better, not him.

"Tony..." she began.

Tony was obviously thinking about more or less the same thing. "You ever know someone who died of cancer, Ziva?"

"No. I have known people who have died of many things...but cancer is not one of them. You?"

"Buddy of mine in college. He had a brain tumor. No one even knew about it. He just went home for the summer...never came back." Tony snapped a few more photos of the gun lying on the bed.

"That will not happen to McGee."

"Yeah, and how do you know _that_, David?" Tony asked, looking strangely angry. "This doesn't have anything to do with spying or assassination or murder. This is just a guy whose entire body is working against him. _That's_ what is happening to McGee."

Ziva grabbed Tony's arm. "I am worried, too."

"Until you see someone who has it...that's all you'll be. I'm way past worried," Tony admitted.

"No movie?" Ziva asked, lightly.

"All the movies I know involving cancer end with the person dying," Tony answered seriously.

"It's a good thing your movies are all fiction, then, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "Ducky. It's about time you got here."

A very solemn Ducky entered the room, followed by an even-more-solemn Jimmy. "Yes, I do apologize. Timothy came down to Autopsy to speak to us just before we left."

"He told you?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, Jethro. I must say that it was hard to tell who was more shocked by it." He walked to the body on the bed. "So, what do we have here?"

"Looks like a suicide, Ducky."

"Based on preliminary examination, I would concur."

"Time of death?"

"I'll know more when I get him home, but liver temp indicates...about six hours ago." Ducky stood. "Mr. Palmer, let's get him ready."

"Yes, Doctor," Jimmy said, very subdued. There was little banter and only slightly more conversation during the investigation as a whole. It was hard to focus because at the back of everyone's minds was a single sentence repeating over and over again: _McGee has cancer._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby sat in her lab, the music off, Bert in her arms. On her computer monitor was nothing about the ballistics of the bullet, the tests for GSR on the petty officer's hands, not even the tests on the glass from the broken window. No. What Abby was looking at was information about AML.

Numbers and various statistics flashed across the screen. They weren't necessarily dismal, but they weren't particularly optimistic either.

_Difficult to cure...5-year relative survival rate of 34.9 percent...one of the most difficult to treat..._

She didn't feel any better. Tim's apartment had been a mess: dirty dishes in the sink, books piled up on the floor by his bed. He had apologized for the state of the place, saying that he just felt so tired all the time. When he had sunk down onto the bed, Abby had nearly started to cry. They had all noticed that Tim had hit a rough patch in the last month, but he'd shrugged it off most of the time. She knew that even Gibbs had been worried, although he hadn't said anything about it. Now...they knew. She hugged Bert tightly again. She didn't notice the doors open.

"Hey, Abbs. Did McGee go home?" Tony asked as he and Ziva came into the lab.

Abby nodded and hugged Bert again. "He looks so sick, Tony. How did we not see before?"

"Hey, it's McGee! _He_ didn't know he was really sick, Abby. How were _we_ supposed to know?"

"We knew there was something wrong...but we didn't say anything. Only Ducky did. What if he hadn't?"

"McGee would have gone," Ziva said bracingly. "It just might have taken a little bit longer."

"But I've been looking up stuff about it. A little bit longer might have been too late! And there's so much that can still go wrong! I mean, there's chemotherapy and all those side effects and it could be a drug-resistant type and..." Abby set Bert down and hugged Tony. "I don't want Tim to die!"

"Neither do we, Abby," Tony said. "Neither do we."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Cynthia was filing paperwork at the end of the day when a name caught her eye. Immediately, she went into Jenny's office. "Director, there's a form here I think you need to see."

Jenny barely looked up from her study. "All right, Cynthia. Just leave it on my desk. I'll get to it later."

"Director...I think you should look at it now," Cynthia said firmly.

Jenny looked up in surprise. Cynthia looked slightly abashed at her temerity, but she didn't back down. Instead, she held out the form.

"Very well." She took it and scanned the contents. Then, she looked back up at Cynthia. "Is Agent Gibbs here?"

"I believe so, ma'am."

"Please send him up."

"Yes, ma'am." Cynthia turned to leave.

"Oh, and Cynthia?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

When Gibbs came into her office two minutes later, Jenny could see that he already knew. If Tim was taking the time to fill out the forms, it made sense that he would also tell the people who needed to know.

"I take it you've already heard," she said.

"About McGee?"

"Yes."

Gibbs nodded. "He told us this morning."

"I'm approving his request, of course, but I didn't want you to be blind-sided."

Gibbs smiled. "Too late for that. Already happened."

"I'm sorry, Jethro. I wish there was something we could do."

"There's not. That's the way it goes."

"I'm willing to be flexible, Jethro. Just let me know what you need."

Gibbs looked at her for a long time and then he said, "A miracle, Director."

Jenny smiled sadly and then watched him walk out of the office. She sat back in her seat and looked at the form once more. It was so impersonal...a terrible life-threatening disease boiled down to a number of days of missed work.

Only someone looking would notice...and Jenny did notice. Tim's signature had been written by a shaking hand...whether from fear or from illness she didn't know.

It was probably both.


	4. Chapter 3: Surprises

**Chapter 3: Surprises**

When Tim woke up the next morning, he took some time to evaluate how he felt. He had found over the last few weeks that these precious moments spent deciding how ill he was saved him a lot of problems. For instance, if he realized that the day was going to be one fraught with extreme nausea, he would take it more slowly to prevent making a mess. If it was going to be one of dizziness or being just terribly exhausted, he could make sure that his plans took that into consideration. Yesterday, had been an all around bad day, and he had slept solidly from the time Abby dropped him off to this morning. That meant that he hadn't eaten anything either. Tim sighed. Today was going to be a nausea day...but he knew that he needed to eat. If there was anything that his doctor had hammered into his head, it was the necessity of staying as healthy as possible. That meant that he couldn't starve himself...even if the very _thought_ of eating made him queasy.

Instead of dragging himself into the shower, he dragged himself into the kitchen. He looked with disgust at the dishes in the sink.

"I really need to clean this place." The thought was exhausting; so he turned from the sink and took the brave step of making toast. Then, he took the even braver step of pouring a glass of orange juice. He looked at the glass and the plate for a long time and sighed.

"They're not going to eat themselves," Tim said aloud...and then laughed at the absurd image the words evoked. He sat down and positioned a garbage can close by...just in case. He swallowed hard and began to eat. He chewed very slowly, taking small bites and only sipping the orange juice. To his surprise, he managed to keep it all down. Congratulating himself on the small victory, he went and showered. There were a few anxious moments, but still, the food he had eaten stayed where it was supposed to...and it helped him feel slightly more energetic.

Tim walked out of the bathroom, his stomach still roiling uncomfortably. He looked at his bedroom. He hadn't done laundry in more than a week. He was running out of clean clothes. His bed was unmade, there were stacks of paper and books around and _on_ his bed. The main room wasn't much better. More books on the floor...and the kitchen was the worst because he'd made meals and then been unable to eat them.

"Tonight...I'll clean up tonight," Tim said, knowing that he'd likely feel so tired that he'd put it off...again. He looked at his watch and sighed. Time to go. He wished that he could beg off, but it would be the perfect irony if he cancelled his doctor's appointment because he felt sick.

As he left, he had a fleeting wish that he had asked someone to be there with him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey...Boss? This isn't the road to Anacostia," Tony observed. He was a little hesitant about saying it because Gibbs tended to get...well, _testy_ about such statements.

"Congratulations, DiNozzo. You're right. We're not going to Anacostia."

"Why not, Gibbs?" Ziva asked. "I thought we were going to finish up on the suicide."

"We will. We have another appointment first."

"What is it, Boss?"

Gibbs didn't answer. He just drove.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How are you feeling, today, Tim?" Dr. Ainsley asked.

Tim shrugged. "Better than yesterday, but not great."

"We got back the biopsy results. The cancer hasn't spread."

Tim knew he should be happy about that. It meant that it was that much more likely that they'd be able to at least put the cancer in remission...but he was still overwhelmed by the fact that he was talking about his own body...about his body killing itself...without his express permission. Again, the resulting image made him laugh.

"What's so funny, Tim?"

The laugh cut off, as the feeling became almost painful. "Nothing. Nothing really. Is there a 'but' in there somewhere?"

"A but?"

"Yeah. Your tone indicated that you didn't have all good news."

"You're right...again. We got the detailed results of your FISH and... I've called an oncologist from Washington Hospital Center. He should be here soon."

"That bad?"

"Let's just say that we need to discuss your options as quickly as possible."

Tim nodded. "Okay...but what does that mean?"

Dr. Ainsley nodded in understanding. Some people didn't want to know all the details at once. Tim was not one of those people. He wanted to know everything...and more, even if it threatened to drown him. However, before he could answer, his phone rang.

"That must him. Mandy? Is the oncologist here?"

"_No, Dr. Ainsley. There are three people out here who say that they're here to see Mr. McGee."_

Then, there was a faint call. _"Come on, Probie! Let us in!"_

"_Oh, be quiet, Tony."_

"_I'm just letting him know who we are... Thanks, Boss."_

Dr. Ainsley raised an eyebrow. "Your friends?"

Tim nodded and tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help it. He was definitely surprised by Tony's voice, but he couldn't deny the fact that he felt suddenly much happier just because they were there.

"They can come in if you would like them to. It's your choice." He smiled at the change in Tim's expression. Even if it was short-lived, he wasn't thinking about the cancer.

"Yeah. I'd like that," Tim said.

"Send them in, Mandy."

"_Yes, Doctor."_

A few seconds later, the door opened and Tim felt his heart warm just a little at the sight of Tony, Ziva and Gibbs trooping in and introducing themselves to Dr. Ainsley. He would never have dreamed of asking them to be there...but he was very happy that they had come. The news was hard enough to take alone. Tim couldn't say anything, but he didn't need to. They all took one look at his face and they knew they hadn't intruded.

"As I was saying before you three arrived," Dr. Ainsley said, resuming his explanation. "Tim, your cancer is more advanced than we first thought, and the sooner you make a decision about how we proceed, the better it will be for you."

"What do you mean, more advanced?" Ziva asked, and then looked chagrined. "I am sorry. Should I not ask any questions?"

Tim turned around. "No, it's okay. You can ask." He smiled weakly. "That just means that the cancer is closer to killing me than they thought before."

"Roughly speaking, yes," Dr. Ainsley agreed. "Leukemia occurs due to a mutation in the chromosomes governing white blood cell production. Tim's cancer type is acute, meaning that it mostly occurs in immature cells and prevents them from functioning properly. That also means that it progresses much more quickly than the chronic variant which mostly affects mature cells."

"In English, Doc?" Gibbs asked.

Tim answered, his voice quiet. He didn't turn around this time. "White blood cells are supposed to fight off infection, but mine have mutated and instead of fighting off infection, they're killing me. They aren't getting the chance to become regular white blood cells. Instead, they mutate when they first form into leukemic cells."

"_Dr. Ainsley? The oncologist is here."_

"Thank you, Mandy. Send him in." He looked at Tim who was definitely dwelling on the cancer again and then at the others who looked a little shell-shocked at the revelation. He stood as the door opened once more.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Scott," he said amiably. He was fairly young, but he had the air of one who was extremely experienced. He walked around and shook everyone's hand without showing any discomfort at the tense feeling in the air.

"Scott?" Tony asked when he approached. "So you're a first name, first name? Or maybe a last name, first name?"

Dr. Scott smiled. "Yep. Michael Scott. I like to think of myself as Scottie's great-great-great grandfather."

Tony looked at Ziva who just shrugged and shook his hand as well. Tim, on the other hand, let out a short burst of laughter.

"What's so funny, Mr. McGee?" Dr. Scott asked as he reached him at last.

"Wishful thinking, Dr. Scott."

"Of course." He held Tim's hand for just slightly longer than the others. "My job depends on wishful thinking sometimes."

"This time?"

"Yet to be seen. But I _can _see that you haven't been eating very regularly."

"I'm just not hungry."

"I understand that. Believe me; I do. However, you still need to eat, even if you don't want to. What's coming is going to be very hard on your body. You need to do the best you can to ameliorate that."

"I ate breakfast this morning," Tim said quietly, blushing a little.

"What did you have?"

"Toast...and a glass of orange juice."

"Well, that's better than nothing. Mr. McGee, if you can't eat three full meals, then break it up and eat smaller meals more often. That's perfectly acceptable."

"Okay."

"How far did you get, Dr. Ainsley?"

"Not far at all. I wanted to wait for you."

"Okay. Let's get down to business. First, Mr. McGee..."

"Please, call me Tim."

"I can do that, Tim. First, do you want me to sugarcoat things for you?"

"No," Tim said instantly. There was no hesitation and the others were surprised. "I want to know _exactly_ what I'm up against."

"I'm not surprised considering how Dr. Ainsley described you. I'm going to be blunt, then. You're dying, Tim. The leukemia is progressing very quickly and if we're going to stop it, we have to get started."

"When?" Tim was pale, but his voice was steady.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. You have a couple of options for treatment. Are you familiar with them?"

"Yeah. The usual chemotherapy...or I could opt for a clinical trial."

"That's right. I recommend we start with the chemotherapy, but if you wish, I can give you the information on the clinical trials being conducted right now and you can choose from them."

Tim shook his head. "No. I...I looked them up this weekend. I don't need to wait."

Dr. Scott looked slightly impressed. "Very well. Let's just go through the basics right now. That will eliminate some of the time we take up tomorrow."

"Wait...can I ask a question?" Gibbs interjected suddenly.

Tim blinked and looked over his shoulder in surprise. He nodded, but looked a little confused.

"Isn't there anything else besides chemotherapy? A bone marrow transplant?"

"That's the second step. The first step is to rid Tim's body of all the leukocytes...or putting his cancer into remission and that requires chemotherapy...sometimes more than one cycle. After that, we will start the consolidation therapy. That's where a transplant can occur. We'll be searching for a viable donor."

"Couldn't it just be his family?" Tony asked, but as he did so, he noticed that Tim wasn't the one asking any of the questions. More than likely, he knew all this already, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he had seemed quite happy to have them there. Tony really wanted to ask why.

"It could be, but the odds of his sister being a viable match are only one in four. This isn't like matching blood types, Tony. Bone marrow has a unique tissue type that has to be as similar as possible...including gender. The ideal is to have an identical twin, but barring that there are two options."

"What?"

"Autologous or allogeneic transplantation."

"What does that mean?" Tony asked.

Tim answered before Dr. Scott could. He looked so tired that Tony thought of Abby's observation the day before. How had they not noticed this?

"Autologous means that they would harvest _my_ marrow and then reinject it. Allogeneic is marrow that comes from a matched tissue donor: family, friends, perfect strangers."

Somehow, and Tony was never sure how it happened, Tony suddenly realized that he was gripping Tim's shoulder. There was something...really heartbreaking about how calm Tim was. Maybe it wasn't calm at all, merely resignation.

"Exactly," Dr. Scott confirmed.

"How could you use his own marrow? Is not _that_ the problem?" Ziva asked.

"That is, of course, one of the problems with autologous transplants. We harvest the cells after chemotherapy. It's not always as effective, but we avoid GVHD." At the blank looks, he added, "Graft vs. host disease. That means the transplanted cells could attack Tim's body as an infectious agent."

"Isn't that what's already happening to me?" Tim asked.

"In a manner of speaking."

"So...walk me through what will happen. I've read stuff, but I want to be sure it's accurate."

Dr. Scott smiled. "Why don't _you_ walk _us_ through it, and I'll tell you if you get off track or if there's additional information you need."

Tim just stared at him for a long enough period of time that Dr. Scott understood...more than anyone else in the room what Tim was thinking.

"I'll start you off. Tomorrow, we'll check you into the Cancer Institute over at WHC and give you a general physical examination. Then, we'll prep you for surgery."

"Surgery?" Tony asked.

"Do you know why, Tim?"

Tim nodded. "To insert a catheter into my chest."

"What for?" Dr. Scott asked.

"It makes it easier to administer the chemotherapy drugs and then you can also take blood samples."

"Exactly. It also serves as a port if we need to _give_ you a blood transfusion or antibiotics during your chemo."

"Why would he need that?" Ziva asked.

"Because the drugs we use kill not only the cancerous cells but also the healthy cells."

"And this _helps_?"

"It's the only way to do this, Ziva," Tim said. "They haven't been able to find a way to attack _only_ the cancer cells. They have to wipe everything out and start over. I'll be in the hospital for about a month because the drugs they use destroy the cells that fight infections. I'll also be at risk for low blood cell counts and...my hair will fall out and I'll probably have digestive problems and rashes and..." Tony noticed that Ziva had put her hand on his arm. The only person _not_ touching Tim was Gibbs...and that was probably only because Tony and Ziva were on either side. "After the first round, they'll check and see if it's worked. If it does, then I'll have post-remission therapy that will probably involve some sort of transplant."

"If it doesn't?" Tony asked.

Tim smiled humorlessly. "Then, we get to go through all this again." He looked at Dr. Scott. "Did I miss anything?"

"Procedurally, not really. We'll fill in the details as we go along. There are a couple of things you left out."

"What is that?"

Dr. Scott looked at the other three. "Tim can't go through this on his own. It'll be hard on him physically _and_ emotionally."

"My family is coming," Tim said softly.

"Good. You'll probably want them all around at some point...and you'll also probably want them all to leave at some point. When I say that this is hard, I mean it. You'll feel tired, sick and often that leads to depression and the sense that no one can understand...which, unless they've had cancer themselves, is probably true. You'll more than likely forget this, but let me suggest that you don't expect them to understand and don't require it of them. It will be better for everyone."

"I'll try to remember," Tim answered.

"I'll be happy to remind you when you forget. So..." As Dr. Scott began discussing forms and insurance and all the other details of Tim checking into the hospital the next morning, the rest of them felt rather superfluous. However, they didn't even consider leaving. Tony and Ziva didn't take their hands away and Gibbs watched Tim. Knowing him, Gibbs figured he'd probably spent most of the weekend reading everything he could find about this disease. He'd accepted it...but not well. He was simply trying to get through it.

When he stood up after the meeting was over, he looked ready to collapse, but he didn't. He tried to smile at them all and walked out of the office.

"Hey, McGee," Tony said, once they reached the outdoors.

Tim turned around, a questioning look on his face.

"We weren't in the way in there, were we?"

Tim smiled and shook his head. "No, I'm glad you were there...although, next time? Don't hold onto to my shoulder so tightly. I think you gave me a bruise."

Tony grinned in response. "I'll remember that."

"Oh, I meant to ask...why _did_ you all come?"

"Because you needed someone there, McGee," Gibbs said.

"I did, Boss. You're right. I didn't think I would, but I did."

"Will you need a ride to the hospital, tomorrow, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"I was going to take a taxi, but yeah, I think I will...if you don't mind."

"I would not have asked if I did."

"Okay, then, yes, I would love to have a ride."

"I will be there to pick you up. Be ready."

"I will." Tim smiled. "Thanks for being there. I really..." Tim looked around at all the people on the street and his voice trailed off.

"McGee?" Ziva asked.

The first tears they'd seen Tim shed slipped down his cheeks. "It's so fast. A week ago, I was just worn out. Now, I have cancer. A week ago, I was...waiting. Now, I wish I could just stop the time. Things change so quickly...but wishing can't change it back." He took a deep breath and turned back to them. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"You want to have a last fling, Probie?" Tony asked, even though he knew what the answer would be.

"Only if that fling involves me falling into my bed and sleeping the rest of the day."

"Well, McGee, that's really not my thing. I'm sure Ziva would..." Gibbs smacked his head. "Shutting up, Boss."

"You need anything, McGee..." Gibbs said.

"I'll ask," Tim finished. "I will. Thanks."

He watched them leave and wished with all his heart that he was going with them...back to work, back to normal life...but it couldn't happen that way.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Tim got back to his apartment, he went into the bathroom and took off his shirt. He smiled sadly. On his shoulder was a blue and purple bruise from Tony's hand. He knew he could have told him to stop...but he had needed the contact, the support that Tony had been giving. It was less a wound than a symbol of how much his friends cared.

Tim touched it gently...and he was actually grateful for it.


	5. Chapter 4: Ending or Beginning?

**Chapter 4: Ending or Beginning?**

Later that day, Tim looked at his apartment in something akin to despair. It was as messed up as his body was. He'd finally made the effort to do his laundry... but now, he had a pile of clean clothes on his bed, and no energy left to fold them. He nearly started crying at the thought of trying to eat again. He couldn't muster up the energy to do any cleaning, but he knew if he went to sleep now, he wouldn't wake up until the next morning. He also knew that he couldn't leave his apartment like this, not when it was going to be empty for a month.

He couldn't do it alone. As embarrassing as it was, he had to admit it. Tim pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"_This...is...Abby Sciuto. Leave your name and number and I'll call you back."_

Tim sighed. Knowing Abby, her phone was probably right next to her, but the music was so loud that she couldn't hear it. He smiled at the thought of Abby having a blast out at a concert or something like that. Abby's preferred bands weren't his idea of good music, but they were hers and that was important. He didn't want to make her feel guilty for not being there. He didn't think that she had to be at his beck and call...not even when he had cancer.

"Hey, Abby. It's Tim. I was just wanting to talk. I'm sure they'll have told you that I'm going to the hospital tomorrow. I'll be sure to let you know where I am...Have a great night."

Tim hung up and pushed back the tears. His situation had not changed. _Do I dare ask anyone else? What have I got to lose?_ He dialed another number. When he heard the voice on the other end, he couldn't hold back the tears anymore...he was embarrassed and relieved at the same time.

"Hey...Ziva?"

"_McGee, what is wrong?"_

"This is so embarrassing."

"_What?"_

"Are...are you busy?"

"_No, not at the moment."_

"I...I need some help."

"_Doing what?"_

"That's the embarrassing thing."

"_Spit it up, McGee."_

Tim laughed through his tears. "That's spit it out...although spit it up could be fairly accurate under the circumstances."

"_You are stalling."_

"I have to...my apartment is a mess...and I just can't..." Tim tried not to cry. He hated that he was asking for help like this. "...I can't...I don't have the energy to clean it myself. And I can't leave it a mess while I'm...at the hospital."

"_You wish me to help you...clean."_

Tim's face was burning. "Yeah, it was a stupid idea. Sorry...I'll just..."

"_McGee, I did not say no. I am just surprised that you called _me_ for help."_

"I did call Abby, first, but..."

"_She is at a concert."_

"I figured. You were second on the list."

"_Because I am a woman?"_

"No! Not at all. Because I thought you'd be less likely to make jokes about it."

"_I will be there, McGee."_

"Thanks...thanks, Ziva."

"_I am just glad that you called me before Tony._"

Tim gave a hiccuping laugh. "Of course."

"_See you in a few minutes, McGee."_

"Right. Bye." Tim hung up and felt both better and worse.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva stood outside Tim's door. It wasn't like her to be so uncertain...but she was. Tim had called her...for help..._cleaning_. He had called because he was so weak that he physically could not do it himself. She knew that had to be the case because there was no way on earth that Tim would _ever_ ask _anyone_ for help cleaning unless he really couldn't do it. She didn't feel hurt that he had called Abby first. Abby would generally come first. She was less intimidating. He had known her longer...no, Ziva wasn't hurt. She was actually _flattered _that she had come second. And yet, at the same time, she was afraid to knock, afraid to see Tim in such a state, although based on what they had learned, he would shortly be even worse.

_I have seen people torn to pieces, blown apart, dismembered, killed in other gruesome ways. Why am I afraid to see a friend?_ The answer was fairly easy: Like Tony had said before, there was nothing they could do about it... but Gibbs had also been right. They could be there for Tim. Right now, that involved helping him clean his apartment. With that decided, she knocked on the door.

When Tim opened the door, she was amazed that he was still upright. He looked much worse than he had that morning.

"Hey, Ziva," he said. "I can't...thank you enough for coming over."

"It is the least I could do. What needs to be done?" she asked as she stepped inside. The answer was immediately apparent. "Actually...what do you consider most important?"

Tim looked around and then pointed sheepishly at the kitchen.

"I would have to agree. This is rather sad."

Tim nodded. "I know. I've tried a hundred times to do it; it's just such a big job. I barely could do my laundry today."

"Do not be embarrassed, McGee. I am here to help, not to make you feel worse."

Tim was standing at the counter, his hands gripping the edge tightly, and Ziva began to suspect that the reason for that was to keep him upright, not because of his embarrassment. She walked over and put a strong arm around his waist.

"You are going to sit...or lie down before you collapse."

"If I do, I'm not getting up again until tomorrow."

"So be it." As she pulled him toward his bedroom, Ziva managed to hide her shock at how brittle Tim felt. He must have lost more than twenty pounds in the last month. He didn't even protest, which in and of itself proved how weary he was. When she reached his bedroom, her mouth opened with dismay. His bed was nearly hidden beneath a pile of clothes. "Your laundry?" she asked.

She felt Tim shift a little. "Yeah. I couldn't put it away. I hate this, Ziva. I really hate it."

Ziva lowered him onto an empty space on the bed. Then, she began to organize his laundry into piles.

"I will help you with this first. _You_ will sort through your underwear, McGee."

Tim chuckled. "I can handle that."

"Good. Then, I will ask you where everything else goes. For instance," she said, holding up a pair of pants, "where does this go?"

Tim pointed to the closet. "All pants in the closet...except for the sweatpants."

"Yes, sir." Ziva began to put Tim's clothes away, trying not to notice how much Tim's arms were trembling as he folded his boxers and socks. After his clothes were safely located in their appropriate spaces, Ziva looked at Tim once more. "Did you eat?"

Tim shook his head and stared at the floor.

"You must eat _something_. The doctor said as much this morning. I will fix you something simple and you _will _eat it and then sleep while I clean."

"Ziva...I..." Tim still didn't look up.

Ziva knelt down in front of him. "McGee. This is hard, yes?"

"...and it's only going to get worse," Tim said, tears threatening once more.

"We will not let you do it on your own. You must make an effort, but we will be there to help you."

"Thank you," Tim whispered. "I'm so afraid. People shouldn't have to die like this."

"You will not die, McGee."

"Even if I pretended that there wasn't a chance of that happening, Ziva, it wouldn't matter because it's not up to me. It's not up to you. It's not even up to my doctors. It's up to a bunch of microscopic cells." He looked up at her. "My body is killing me."

"It will not succeed," Ziva said firmly. Then, she stood and walked back into the kitchen. True to her word, she made soup, knowing that he wouldn't be able to tolerate much more than that. Then, she took it back in to the bedroom and nearly force-fed him. Ziva helped him lay down and watched as his eyes closed, his body settling almost instantly into sleep. Once she convinced herself that he was sleeping and not dead, she went back into the kitchen and began to clean. That task alone took two hours. Then, she cleaned up the rest of his apartment, including his bedroom. Tim never woke up.

By the time Tim's apartment was clean again, it was after midnight and Ziva was plenty tired herself. As she got ready to leave, she saw Tim's bag on the floor. He'd packed some things to take with him to the hospital...or rather, _she_ had packed some things that he had requested. How did one really decide what should be taken in such a situation?

Ziva walked back into the bedroom and leaned over the bed.

"Good night, McGee," she whispered.

Tim didn't even shift in response, but Ziva smiled and then left quietly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The alarm blared for about five minutes before Tim woke up. There were a few glorious seconds in which he was able to pretend that he wasn't sick, that he didn't get exhausted just by moving. Then, he reached his arm over to his clock and felt the exhaustion that never really went away, not even after more than twelve hours of solid sleep. No nausea this time. That was something anyway. He sat up slowly and felt the room start to spin. He closed his eyes and waited for the sensation to fade. Then, he stood up...and promptly fell back down onto the bed, his hands to his head. Then, his phone started to ring. It was only on his drawers, but it might as well have been a million miles away for how he felt about getting to it.

_I will not allow this to dictate my life!_ Tim said to himself and stood up. He felt unstable, but he stayed upright and walked to his dresser to answer. It was Abby and that brought a smile to his face.

"Hey, Abbs."

"_Tim! I am so so sorry that I didn't answer last night! I was..."_

"At a concert, I know. It's okay, Abby. You're not required to be reachable 24 hours a day...well, at least not for me."

Abby laughed. _"You're way too understanding, Tim. What did you want?"_

"Nothing. I was just in the mood to talk. I'm checking in today."

"_Right, Gibbs told me. How long will you be gone?"_

"At least a month...for the first bout. Speaking of which, I need to get ready. I'm pretty slow getting around right now."

"_You'll let me know where you are and everything?"_

"Of course. I...I think I'm going to need as much help as I can get."

"_We're all willing to give it, you know."_

"I know."

"_Be okay, Tim."_

"If I can. Bye."

"_Bye."_

After Abby hung up, Tim had to sit down again and catch his breath. She had tried very hard to sound normal, to pretend that this was something simple. He had appreciated it and reciprocated...but now, alone again, he felt every tired muscle, every inch of exhaustion, and he knew it wasn't simple. It couldn't be. He looked at the clock.

_If I'm going to be ready by the time Ziva gets here, I have to get moving._ Tim stood up to walk to the bathroom. Halfway there, the room started to spin dizzily. He flung out an arm to try and steady himself, but it didn't help. He couldn't catch his breath and black spots danced in front of his eyes. He felt himself start to collapse and tried to stop it. Eventually, everything went black.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee? Tim? Please, answer me."

The words were coming from very far away. Then, Tim felt a light tap on his cheek. He forced his eyes open. They only stayed open for a moment, but in the brief second of sight, he saw Ziva leaning over him, looking frightened.

"Please, wake up."

Again, Tim forced his eyelids to raise. His eyes stayed open this time.

"Yes, ma'am," Tim whispered and tried to smile.

Ziva looked relieved. "You scared me to death, McGee."

"How did you get in?"

She just smiled.

"Of course."

"I called for help, but they said that you would probably wake up on your own. How are you feeling?"

"Terrible."

"Do you need an ambulance? They are still on the phone."

"I don't know," Tim answered. "I don't feel much like getting up."

"I will tell them to send the ambulance. _I_ am not going to carry you."

"Fine by me. Am I late?"

"For what?"

Tim blinked slowly and was happy that his eyelids deigned to lift again. "I'm supposed to check into the hospital today. What time is it?"

"You're late."

"Figures. I'm late to go to the hospital...because I'm sick." Tim laughed weakly. "My life couldn't get much worse than this, could it."

Ziva smiled back. "It _could_, McGee."

"How?"

"You could be dead."

"Thanks for that, Ziva."

"I do my best."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"What happened?"

"I stood up and started to walk. I passed out," Tim said flatly. "That's all. Apparently, even walking is too difficult for me."

There was nothing to say to that and so they remained silent until the paramedics came. Ziva gave them the information they needed and Tim tried not to be embarrassed at being placed on a stretcher. Ziva watched them leave and then...only after the ambulance had left she remembered Tim's bag. He wasn't likely to be coming back here...not for a while anyway. She grabbed the bag and ran out the door.

Tim's apartment was empty. Clean...but empty, abandoned in a rush rather than slowly as had been planned. As so often happened, life stepped in and ruined the best-laid plans of mice and men.


	6. Chapter 5: Support

**Chapter 5: Support**

"If you wanted to get to the hospital sooner, Tim, we could have made arrangements," Dr. Scott said.

"I guess I just couldn't wait," Tim said, trying to smile and ignore the feeling of the catheter sticking out of his chest. It was taking a lot of effort to avoid rubbing at it. It wasn't that it was irritating, just disconcerting. "I'm a _be there early _kind of guy."

"Well, we're going to put off starting the chemo until tomorrow morning."

"Why?"

"Your blood pressure took a nosedive this morning, probably due to your fatigue and a low-grade fever, leading to your precipitous collapse. It will be better to wait until we get you stabilized before..."

"...before you tear my body's defenses down?" Tim asked, not bothering to hide the ironic tone.

Dr. Scott didn't take offense. "I understand that you're feeling anxious, Tim. I've gone through this process a few times with other patients, but you need to try to be positive. This is going to be hard enough for you without the emotional lows."

"Yeah, just like that." Tim snapped his fingers and then stared at them as they shook.

"When is your family coming?"

"Tomorrow," Tim said, still staring.

"Did you tell them about this morning?"

"No. I didn't want them to worry." Then, Tim seemed realize how stupid that comment was and he amended. "I didn't want them to worry _more_."

"Tim, look at me, please."

Tim lifted his head, only reluctantly.

"You may not like leaning on other people, but you _have_ to now. Not just physically. You are going to _need_ them around you to help you stay positive. I can't emphasize enough how important that is. You need to get over this reluctance to ask for help because if you try to get through everything on your own, you'll more than likely fail."

Tim didn't respond. He just dropped his head again. Dr. Scott patted his shoulder gently and then turned to leave.

"I'm falling apart," Tim said into the silence.

"What was that, Tim?"

"I'm falling apart. I hate being this way. I hate them _seeing_ me this way." Tim held out his shaking hand as evidence. "I'm the weak one on the team anyway...and now I can't even...I can't even _walk_ without falling over. And it's only going to get worse...and worse...and they'll still be seeing me." He brought his hand to his face and squeezed his eyes shut. "I hate this."

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Tim," Dr. Scott said. "I don't know how your usual relationship works with your team, but I have seen them and how they acted in Dr. Ainsley's office. I saw Ziva when she dropped off your stuff. It was obvious to me that she didn't want to leave you alone here. They will _not_ hold your illness against you. They want to help. _Let_ them. Don't worry about trying to be strong or brave or anything like that. You need help. Ask for it. Cancer sucks. It really does. No one has the illusion of it being any different. You're not weak for wanting to share the load a little...or even a lot, although there's a definite limit."

"It's not fair," Tim whispered, a tear escaping.

"No, it's not. Life is rarely fair as I'm sure you know."

Tim looked up, desperation clear in his eyes. "Am I going to make it? Will all this be worth it?"

"The statistics–" he began.

"I don't care about the statistics. I'm talking about _me_."

"Good, Tim. That's how you _should_ be thinking. No matter what the statistics say, _you_ are the one who matters." He paused and then continued, "And you _can_ make it...especially if you believe you can."

"Power of positive thinking?" Tim asked, smiling tiredly.

"Yes. There is a _lot_ of power in positive thinking." Dr. Scott turned to leave once more but stopped. "By the way, where did that bruise on your shoulder come from?"

Tim's hand automatically moved to it. "From Tony...he was holding onto my shoulder."

"Low platelet count."

"Yes."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is."

"Remember it, Tim. Even if you can't remember the words. Remember _that_." Then, he left.

Tim reached out to the phone beside his bed and picked it up. His hands still shook, but he dialed anyway. "Hey, Abby? Want to pay me a visit?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby had wanted to leave NCIS as soon as Tim had called her, but she had been right in the middle of running fingerprints off a weapon found in a dumpster in the Navy Yard. It wasn't _urgent_, but she knew she couldn't just bug out two hours early. She had wanted to leave when Ziva had come late to work and told them of Tim's collapse, but she had resisted. She was swiftly reaching her limits, but she could last for another hour...no more than an hour, but an hour nonetheless. If anyone else had work for her, they could do it themselves. She nodded firmly and looked at the screen again, willing the search to go faster.

It wasn't as though Tim expected her to drop everything and go. He had even said as much on the phone...but...he had sounded so tired. If he was this tired _before_ the chemotherapy...

"Work faster," she said to the search.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Hey, Tim. How are the accommodations," _Sam asked over the phone. Tim had decided to call and see when they were all leaving. It would pass the time.

"I've had better."

"_I'm sure. Well, we should be leaving in a few hours."_

"What? It'll be late. Why are you leaving so late?"

Tim heard Sarah pick up the extension. _"Because Mom's lost her mind."_

"_Now, Sarah. That's uncharitable. She's just...investigating alternatives."_

"_Yeah, she's lost her mind, Tim."_

"What do you mean?"

"_Mom decided that driving all night was the better way to go because the traffic is lighter...and Dad's letting her do it."_

"_Seeing as she _is_ the driver, there was little I could do to dissuade her."_

In the distance, Tim heard Naomi shout, _"I can hear you, you know. Sarah, get off your rear and help me load the car!"_

"_Mo-oom, I'm talking to Tim!"_

"_You can talk to him tomorrow. If you want to ride in the car and not walk to DC..."_

"_Fine! Tim, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Are you doing okay?"_

"As well as a person with cancer can expect."

"_I love you, Tim."_

"I love you, too, Sarah. Don't worry. I'll still be alive when you get here."

"_Don't joke about that, Tim. Please?"_

"I'm sorry. You'd better go before Mom blows a gasket."

"_Off I go."_

"_Sarah!"_

"_Coming!"_

"_Tim, _are _you doing all right?"_

Tim tried to decide whether or not he wanted to tell his dad what had happened. He knew he didn't, but he didn't know if he _should_ tell him.

"_Tim? You still there?"_

"Yeah, I am. Dad...no one else is on right now, are they?"

"_No, it's just me. Why?"_

"I passed out this morning. I had to come to the hospital in an ambulance."

"_What happened?"_

"Low blood pressure. They put off starting the chemo until tomorrow to try and get me a little more stable."

"_You weren't going to tell us, were you."_

"No. I wasn't. It's just one more thing. Kind of pales in comparison to everything else that's going on."

"_So why did you?"_

"Desperation? No one else is here right now. They're all at work. I'm...not alone, but..."

"_You're alone. You know it. 'Who knows what true loneliness is - not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion.' Joseph Conrad."_

Tim smiled. "I'm glad you're quoting again, Dad. I was worried before."

"_Just needed some time to reboot. So...how _are_ you doing?"_

"Better now that I'm getting all my nutrients through an IV rather than orally...and I'm getting antibiotics...and drugs to combat my low blood pressure. I'm a veritable pharmacy."

"_Tim."_

"Hopefully, I'll survive, Dad. I'd be lying if I wasn't thinking about the alternative."

"_I can't understand the cancer, Tim, but I understand that part of it."_

"I know. I know, Dad."

"Timothy?"

Tim looked toward the door and saw one of the array of nurses who'd been passing in and out of his room, poking her head in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Time for another check-up."

"All right. Dad?"

"_What?"_

"I have to go. See you guys tomorrow. Make sure Mom doesn't fall asleep at the wheel."

"_I will. Bye, Tim."_

"Bye, Dad." Tim fumbled the phone over to the cradle and then smiled wanly at the nurse. "Check away."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As it turned out, the only one able to leave at the end of the work day was Abby. Tony, Ziva and Gibbs had to stay because of a possible homicide that had been called in. It ended up being a couple of teenagers with too much time on their hands who thought they were being funny. They changed their minds rather quickly in the face of three people who were tired, worried and now angry. It delayed their departure by a couple of hours...which caused them to be much more abrupt with the juvenile delinquents than they would have normally.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby approached the nurses' desk a little hesitantly. This wasn't like when Gibbs had been in a coma. That had been from a definite external cause. Tim's illness was so...it just was different and Abby felt nervous, knowing that Tim had actually passed out, that he could actually _die_ from something that none of them could stop...

"Hi, uh, I'm looking for Timothy McGee's room?" she asked.

"You must be Abby," the nurse said, smiling.

"How did you know that?"

"Timothy told me you might be coming by. He didn't describe you, but he said that I'd know you if I saw you."

Abby grinned. "That sounds like Tim. Can I go and see him?"

"Of course. He was drowsing when I left, but you can go in."

"Is he...okay? I mean, not _okay_ okay. Of course, he's not _really_ okay. He's sick and everything, but Ziva told me about how she found him in his apartment this morning and I just wanted to be sure that he was okay...from _that_, and not that he was okay from cancer and...I'm babbling."

"You are, but that's okay. Timothy's room is just down the hall. Room 206."

"Thanks!" Abby walked away, feeling embarrassed. When she reached Tim's room, she hesitated again and then knocked softly. There was no sound from within. She walked in anyway. Tim was lying on the bed, still, pale. There was an IV on one hand, another tube snaking out from under his hospital gown. He looked a little less frail than the last time she had seen him, but with his eyes closed, he could almost be dead.

Slowly, Abby walked over to the bed and sat down beside it, looking at Tim, wanting him to wake up, afraid that he wouldn't, worried about waking him herself. It didn't last too long, thankfully. She reached out and touched his hand and his eyes opened.

"Hey..." he yawned, "...Abby. How long have you been here?"

"Only a couple of minutes."

"Sorry, I close my eyes for two seconds and I'm asleep."

"Don't apologize. It's okay. How are you feeling?"

"A little better than yesterday...and incredibly embarrassed that I seem to have lost the ability to walk."

"What happened? Do you know?"

"Yeah, Dr. Scott said that my blood pressure dropped too suddenly, and I'm just too worn out to be able to take it."

There was an awkward pause.

Tim watched Abby's face shrewdly. "Abby, it's only going to get worse from here. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I don't...please...don't think that you have to say anything. Just being here is..." Tim smiled and tears glistened in his eyes. "...it's so great."

"I'd hug you right now, but you look like you'd break if I tried," Abby said.

"I'd like a hug...a gentle one, if you can manage it."

Abby smiled, but there were tears in her eyes as well. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around Tim, feeling his arms hold her weakly. There was no strength in his grip at all. She kept herself from tightening her arms. She didn't want to let him go. She wanted to somehow transfer some of her own strength into his flaccid body.

"You'll be fine, Tim. I know it."

"You know more than me, then."

"It's about time you admitted it."

Tim laughed. Abby let him go and watched as he settled back with a sigh. She sat next to him and held his hand in silence, without the awkwardness that had been there before.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was drowsing...again, when the door opened to reveal the rest of the team.

"How's the Probie doing?" Tony asked in a loud dramatic whisper.

"The Probie is fine, Tony," Tim mumbled, dragging his eyes open once more. "How are things with you?"

"We nearly killed two teenagers," Tony said, grinning evilly.

"What for?"

"They were idiots," Ziva said with less joviality than Tony. "They thought it would be amusing to call and say that someone had been murdered."

Tim smiled. "You educated them on the fallacy of that idea?"

"I wanted to _educate_ them more forcefully," Ziva said, "but Gibbs would not allow me."

"You would have given me too much paperwork, Ziva," Gibbs said. "How are _you_, McGee? Really."

"Still cancerous. No longer feverish. It's a tradeoff."

"What's that?" Tony asked, pointing to the tube.

"That's the chest catheter," Tim said, looking at it with slight distaste. "It's kind of annoying to have it there. I'm feeling more like Frankenstein's monster every day."

"I don't see any bolts, Probie."

"Give them time," Tim said, deeply weary. "Man, I'm so sick of being tired."

"You sure it's not the other way around, McGee?" Tony asked.

"Tired of being sick? Sure, that, too. I'm not picky."

"What will happen next, McGee?" Ziva asked, trying to steer the conversation back on topic.

"Tomorrow, I start chemo. That will last for a week...then, I'll spend a few more weeks recovering from it. They'll keep tabs on me. I'll be in danger of infections and anemia and nausea...although they usually can treat that pretty effectively. I'll just get to do a lot of sitting around, I guess."

"Hey! There's something good about this after all!" Tony announced.

"What's that?"

"Movies, McGee! You can catch up on all the movies you've never seen!"

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed. "Leave it to you to bring this around to watching television, Tony."

"I do my best."

They all sat in silence for a while, all of them trying not to think about how sick Tim was and how sick he was _going_ to be in due course. Eventually, they'd be able to talk without this awkwardness, but not yet.

"Hey, guys. Thanks for coming, but I'm about to fall asleep again. You can stay here and watch me if you want, but you don't have to."

"Sleep well, then, McGee," Ziva said.

"Will do," Tim said and yawned. His eyes drifted closed and he was asleep again before they'd all even stood to leave.

Abby leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, Tim."

"G'night, Abby," he mumbled without opening his eyes.

They all started to leave, but Tony turned back once. For an instant, he saw, not Tim lying on his bed, but a blue-lit room...and Kate sitting across from him.

"_You're afraid, aren't you?"_

"_Kate, come on. Me? Afraid? Have you ever seen me afraid?"_

"_Well, not when the danger is something that we can confront. But all we can do here is lie around and hope that we're not infected."_

"_Now who's afraid?"_

"_Anyone with half a brain. I take that back. You're not afraid."_

Kate had been more right than she ever knew. He had been afraid then. He was afraid now...not of infection, but of Tim dying...because they _knew_ what he had...and it _could_ kill him.

"Night, Probie."

Tim didn't answer. He was deep asleep...while his body continued to try and kill him. Tony shook his head and left.


	7. Chapter 6: Chemotherapy, Part I

**Chapter 6: Chemotherapy, Part I**

The car hit a bump and jolted Sarah awake.

"Are we there yet?" she asked, sleepily.

"No. Not yet. Getting closer," Naomi answered.

"So, Mom, is this a good idea or a bad idea?" Sarah asked, keeping her voice low so that she didn't wake up Sam.

"Is what a good idea?"

"Driving all night."

"I like it."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I like not having to fight the traffic."

"I have such weird parents."

"Don't lump your father in with me."

"Oh, Dad's definitely weird, too. Just in a different way," Sarah said.

"Do you really want to walk the last sixty miles, Sarah?" Naomi asked, with a smile on her face.

"No."

"Keep that in mind while you're insulting your doting parents."

"You and Dad never doted."

"We obviously have very different memories of your formative years," Naomi said wryly.

"We must."

"Sarah, are you doing okay, sweetie?"

Sarah looked out the window. "Yeah. I'm fine, Mom."

"That's not a _I'm fine_ expression."

Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "It's so...unbelievable, Mom."

"I know. Believe me, I understand what you mean."

"Tim was going to quit his job for me. I put him down and he put everything he loved on the line for me. Now, _he's_ the one who needs the help and I can't do anything about it."

"Yes, you can, Sarah."

"What?"

"The same thing the rest of us are going to do."

"What's that?"

"Love him. No more, no less."

"I'm afraid to see him," Sarah admitted.

"You want to know something, hun?"

"What?"

"So am I."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm afraid of seeing my son the way my imagination is picturing him." Naomi reached back a hand and Sarah grabbed it and held it tightly.

"We there yet?" Sarah asked, smiling through her tears.

"No," Naomi answered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How are you feeling this morning, Tim?" Dr. Scott asked.

"About as well as I have in the last two weeks. I guess there's something to be said for giving my body what it needs," Tim answered, smiling a little. "It's too bad it can't last."

"Think long term. You're giving it up now to get even better later." Dr. Scott looked at some notes on Tim's chart. "But it's good that you're doing better today. You ate breakfast?"

"Yeah. Such as it was," Tim said.

"We'll get started as soon as your family gets here."

"They should be here any time now. I called them to see."

"Good. We'll go over everything once they're here and then hold on for the ride."

"Yeah."

"Hey, are we late?"

Tim leaned around Dr. Scott. "Dad! You made it!" he said, smiling with relief.

"You don't have to sound so surprised, Tim," Naomi said coming in behind him. She faltered a little when she saw her son, but rallied quickly. "I am a very good driver."

"I didn't mean it that way, Mom," Tim said. "Did Sarah come with you?"

Naomi looked behind her. "She was right there just a second ago." She leaned out into the hall and gestured. Then, she looked back inside. "I'll be right back, Tim."

Sam rolled over to the bed. "Hi, I'm Sam, Tim's dad."

"Dr. Scott, the oncologist."

Sam looked at Tim sadly. "You're here to make him healthy again?"

"That's the plan."

"Sarah didn't want to see me?" Tim asked, trying not to sound hurt.

Sam shook his head quickly. "No. It's not that, Tim. It's quite a shock. Remember we haven't seen you in over a month. Just give her a minute to get used to you."

Tim swallowed and nodded. He knew that it would be hard for them, but he hadn't expected to drive Sarah out of the room.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Sarah, come on," Naomi said.

Sarah was bawling. "He looks like a skeleton, Mom!"

"That's a little extreme, Sarah."

"How can he get worse from this?"

Naomi hugged Sarah tightly. "Hey, now, you need to get past this. Tim can't help the way he looks...and he _will_ get worse."

"I know."

"Can you handle it?"

"Just give me a minute."

"Okay." Naomi hugged her for a while longer and then asked, "Ready?"

"Yeah." Sarah took a deep breath and walked past Naomi into Tim's room. She still couldn't believe how much he'd changed. They'd had lunch the last day of her exams. He had been fine, maybe a little tired, but he'd told her that he'd just finished a long week of cases during which he'd rarely been home before midnight. Then, he had turned the conversation to other things and she hadn't thought anything of it. He had been fine...and now he was dying.

"Sarah?" he asked, looking worried.

Sarah walked over to the bed and hugged him...tightly.

"Not so hard, Sarah," Tim whispered.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Tim."

"It's not your fault. You hardly gave me cancer."

"But..."

"No buts, Sarah. This isn't anyone's fault. It's just really bad luck."

"That's true," Dr. Scott said as Sarah sat down. "We rarely discover what causes AML. It could be anything from environmental to genetic factors. Are you ready for the sordid details?"

Sarah looked at Tim and saw the flash of fear on his face. He was afraid. Tim was rarely afraid, at least not that he showed her. He took his role as a big brother very seriously.

"Lay them on us, Dr. Scott," Sam said. Naomi sat on the other side of the bed, holding Tim's hand.

"All right. We'll be starting the chemo in about an hour. The actual treatment will last for a week."

"That's all?" Sarah asked.

"The treatment only lasts a week. Recovering from it takes much longer. We'll be using a combination of two drugs, cytarabine which will be given to him for seven days and daunorubicin which will be administered for three days. The names probably won't mean anything to you, but both of them have severe side effects. In addition to killing off the leukemic cells, they destroy most of the white blood cells and can also affect platelet and red blood cell production. This is called myelosuppression, and what it means is that Tim will have a difficult time fighting off infection. Any bacteria could multiply and kill him if we're not careful. Once he reaches the nadir stage..."

"The what?" Naomi asked quietly.

"The period of time when his bone marrow is completely depressed. During the nadir periods, we'll likely need to put him in relative isolation. And even now, once we start the chemo, you'll have to take extra care during your visits. If you're sick at all, stay away. If you're healthy, you'll need to take extra care in washing your hands. In fact, the best thing to do is to shower before you come, sterilize your hands when you get here and try not to touch him too much while you're here."

"Think of me as a leper," Tim tried to joke.

"Actually, it would be better for _you_ to think of everyone _else_ as lepers," Dr. Scott retorted.

"How long do we do this?" Sam asked.

"Probably about a month. Tim's cancer is pretty advanced. We'll check on how his cell counts are throughout the recovery period."

"But if it doesn't work this time, I'll have to go through it again," Tim said.

"What about short term?" Naomi asked.

"The lowered cell counts will start pretty much right away, but more than likely, the first symptom you'll see is nausea and vomiting. We can use some antiemetics, but we can't always get rid of all of it and both the drugs we use cause vomiting. Alopecia will occur within the week."

"What?" Sarah asked.

"Hair loss, Sarah," Tim said. "I'm going to be temporarily bald."

"Temporarily?"

"Yeah. Once the treatment is over, it should start grow back."

"So...you'll be Mr. Clean?"

"Only without the cleaning part."

"Right. Okay."

"Any other questions?"

Sam looked at the rest of his family. Then, he looked up at Dr. Scott. "Francis Bacon said that 'a prudent question is one half of wisdom,' but I can't think any prudent questions at the moment...except...when do we start?"

"Now," Dr. Scott said.

"Then, let's go," Tim said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It didn't take very long to give the first dose of chemotherapy. It took much longer for Tim to recover from it. Within an hour, he was vomiting...and when he wasn't actually throwing up, he was dry heaving. They tried antiemetics, but they didn't work. Naomi held Tim tightly every time he began to retch and kept him from falling over. After a couple of hours of throwing up, Tim didn't even cry anymore. He just let his body get on with turning itself inside out and hoped for a break in between bouts. Sam and Sarah couldn't take the vomiting and had to have a break, but Naomi never left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, Sarah! When did you all get here?" Tony asked. He and Ziva had come over right after the day had ended. In a reverse of the day before, Abby had to stay to run a whole bunch of tests that had come in at the last minute.

"Just this morning," Sarah said, wiping away a tear.

"What's wrong?"

Sam wheeled himself over. "Tim's started his chemotherapy. He's been pretty much throwing up for the last few hours. I'm Sam."

"Tony."

Ziva held out her hand. "Ziva. Can we still see him?"

"Of course. Sarah and I tend to _compound_ the problem when vomiting is involved.

Tony laughed. "I didn't think _you _liked vomit, Ziva."

"Does anyone?"

"Not as far as I know, but McGee told me about how you made him search through all the puke."

"Do not pretend that you would not have done the same thing," Ziva said as she strode down the hallway toward Tim's room.

"That's my job," Tony said, still grinning. It faded when he opened the door to Tim's room and saw him just being leaned back onto his bed, looking sweaty and extremely pale.

He looked at them. "Hey..." he panted. "Come on in. It's a regular party." He swallowed convulsively. "I've gone for a record thirty minutes without throwing up."

"Wow. Sounds great, Probie," Tony said, trying not to show his concern. "I don't know how you're standing the excitement."

Tim let out a short laugh, tinged with tears. "It's not like...I have much choice in the matter." He swallowed again and closed his eyes. "Oh, I forgot. This is my mom."

Naomi patted Tim's cheek and stood. She shook their hands. "I'm Naomi."

"Tony."

"Ziva."

"Isn't there anything they can do?" Tony asked.

"Nothing they haven't already tried, unfortunately," Naomi said. "Hopefully, his body will adjust to the drugs...or else the antiemetics will be more effective tomorrow."

"Mom?" Tim said, suddenly, his eyes flying open. She was beside him in a moment, one arm around his shoulders and a hand on his forehead as Tim began to retch. Nothing came up, but he was dry heaving for nearly a minute before the spasm passed. "Two minutes," he said, not able to hold back the tears that time. "Too much excitement."

"Could you two stay here for a bit?" Naomi asked. "I should probably see how my two weak-stomached family members are doing."

"Sure," Tony said immediately. If Naomi had been there for hours, she could probably use a break.

"Of course. That is why we are here," Ziva said, only a second behind him. "Take as long as you need."

Naomi smiled in gratitude and then leaned over and kissed Tim's sweaty forehead. "Hang in there, Tim."

Tim just nodded and closed his eyes again.

"How long will this last, McGee?" Ziva asked, once the door had closed.

"At worst, a week. At best, just today," Tim answered, breathing deeply.

"Man, McGee, I'm sorry," Tony said. "This really sucks."

"No kidding, Tony," Tim said and swallowed again. "So...what happened with those kids?"

"Gibbs dragged them into interrogation, got their parents involved and he let them know exactly _what_ we could have done to them," Ziva said. She tried to stay light, but her heart was almost breaking at the sight.

"Good for him," Tim said. "I wish I could have seen it."

"The kids were nearly peeing their pants; they were so scared," Tony said, taking over the weight of conversation. "I think that if Gibbs ever retires...again, he could get a job scaring delinquents to death."

"Sounds like a good idea. You should suggest it, Tony," Tim said, his eyes still closed.

"I don't think so. I'd like to survive a little bit longer at NCIS. Gibbs would smack me out the window."

"That's an interesting image."

"Think about that a lot in your spare time, Probie?"

"You flying out a window? Not particularly."

"I am sure that McGee would be more creative, Tony."

Tim smiled faintly. "Exactly." Then, he swallowed again and clenched his teeth. "Could you guys do the talking for awhile? I think it might be best if I keep my mouth closed."

"Sure. I can talk," Tony said. He looked over at Ziva asking her silently what she'd like to say. She just shook her head. So...Tony started to talk. Half the time, _he_ wasn't even sure what he was talking about, but Tim would smile...still with his eyes closed...at various comments. Ziva rolled her eyes...a lot, but she didn't interrupt. Tony jumped from movies to politics, back to movies, to work, back to movies, to college experiences, and back to movies again. He felt his throat tightening, but he kept talking. Tim lasted for an hour when he began to retch once more. Smoothly, Tony shifted from talking to supporting. He was on one side and Ziva was on the other. Both of them held him up as he gagged and coughed.

"We got you, Probie," Tony said. "Don't worry about a thing."

When he could talk again, Tim tried to smile...but he couldn't. "New record."

"Congrats."

He looked back and forth between them. "Thanks, guys. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"For this."

"No. Do not apologize for something you cannot control. I wish I could help, but I cannot."

Tim let out a tear-filled laugh. "You are helping. Really."

"How?"

"By being here. It means a lot," Tim said, lifting a shaking hand to his head. Ziva put light fingers around his wrist.

"It is no trouble, McGee."

"I wish..."

"So do I, McGee," Tony said. "But we'll be here. When we can, we _will_."

"Thanks."

Then, visiting hours were over. The McGees came in to say good night, and Tony and Ziva left. Tim managed a smile but nothing more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"And this is only the beginning," Tony said as they left.

"How much worse will it get?" Ziva asked.

"I don't know. Probably a lot."


	8. Chapter 7: Alopecia

**Chapter 7: Alopecia**

It took three days before Tim could receive his chemo without heaving for the rest of the day. Even then, he still felt nauseous and his energy levels, along with his cell counts, were getting lower with each day that the chemotherapy continued. People came and went. Friends whom he enjoyed...nurses whose interruptions were rather disconcerting at times...Dr. Scott, looking in on him regularly throughout the day, asking questions Tim didn't want to answer...lots of people...the only exception was Gibbs. He hadn't come at all, and Tim wondered why. He didn't ask, however, because he felt ashamed that he wanted to know where Gibbs was when everyone else was being so great. There was rarely a moment that he was completely alone, except for at night, and often not even then. He was so exhausted that even though he woke up often, he rarely noticed his surroundings...and more often than not someone was there anyway. Still, he wished that Gibbs would come. Even Jenny had paid him a visit. She hadn't stayed long. It was more of an _I'm aware of your plight_ visit than anything else, but she _had_ come. Tim lay awake for a long time, in spite of his continued exhaustion, wondering why Gibbs hadn't come at all. Finally, he fell asleep, feeling ill, tired and slightly depressed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Who's there?" Sam whispered. It was nearly three in the morning, but he couldn't sleep, and the nurses had turned a blind eye when he came to sit next to Tim. The visiting hours were in place for a reason, but rules were meant to be...if not broken, at least _bent_ every so often.

The man beside Tim's bed stood. "I'm sorry. Is this your place?"

Sam shook his head and rolled into the room. "No," he whispered. "I'm just surprised to see anyone else here. Who are you?"

"Jethro. I'm McGee's boss."

"Oh, Agent Gibbs. I'm Sam. It's nice to finally meet you. What brings you here so...late...or so early?"

"It's the first chance I've had to come by."

"I see. It's too bad you couldn't come while he was awake. He thinks so highly of you, you know."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Gibbs said and rolled his eyes a little. "Sometimes, I wish he didn't."

"I've said that more than once about myself. Tim has a way of putting people on pedestals, even if he knows better."

"Yeah. How is he doing? I've had reports from the others, but they're still a bit shell-shocked, I think."

"Aren't we all. He's doing better than he was. These drugs...they're frightening. I hate to see what they're doing to him. The only reason I can stand it is that I keep telling myself that they'll be helping him in the end."

"I understand."

Sam cocked his head to the side. "Do you, Agent Gibbs?"

"Jethro."

"Jethro. Do you have children?"

"Not anymore."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's all right. She died a long time ago. I wasn't even there when it happened."

"Speaking as a parent, I'd be willing to bet that it still hurts. I can't imagine how I'd feel if Tim died from this."

"You're right. It still hurts sometimes. I think this would be harder though. I had one terrible shock. You have this lingering illness."

"Tim's not dead yet, Jethro," Sam chided gently. "I'm not sure we can say which is easier."

The two of them stared at Tim for a long time. He didn't move...except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"In the dark, I can almost pretend he's all right, that this is just a minor thing. Daylight is not so kind."

"How much longer?"

"Four more days of the chemo and then...then, we have to wait and see. He's going to be getting a lot worse before he gets better. His hair is starting to fall out. He pretends that he doesn't care about it, but I caught him staring at a clump of it yesterday."

Gibbs didn't say anything. He just nodded.

"Would you like to stay longer, Jethro? I think I'm going to try and go back to sleep. Naomi will be worried anyway if she wakes up and I'm gone."

"If you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. Tim can use all the friends he can get right now."

"Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Jethro."

Sam rolled quietly out the door and Gibbs sat down again. To be honest, he wasn't sure _why_ he had come when Tim would have no idea that he was there. He knew he was worried...and seeing Tim after three days of chemotherapy hadn't lessened the worry any. He just wished there was something he could _do_. He knew he was right before, that all they could do was be there for Tim, but it went against his grain to sit and do nothing. He sat for a long time, just looking, just wishing for a miracle.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As had become all-too-regular over the past couple of days, Tim woke up feeling like he was going to throw up. They had kept him on an IV for that very reason. He just couldn't keep actual food down long enough for it to do any good. It was still dark, and he tried to decide whether or not he'd be able to sleep again when he heard someone shift on the chair beside his bed.

"Who's there?" he whispered, trying not to move too much. For a crazy moment, he wondered if someone was there to kill him, but he pushed that thought away seeing as he was already nearly dying anyway.

"McGee?"

The whispered word brought Tim to full consciousness. "Boss?"

"Who else, McGee?" Gibbs asked drily.

"What time is it?"

"About 0400."

"What are you doing here?"

"Sitting."

Tim smiled. "Don't you have chairs at your house?" he asked with a flippancy he would not have dared in other circumstances.

"Sure, but they can't compare with hospital chairs."

"I'm sure they can't." Tim stopped speaking. He couldn't express how glad he was that Gibbs had finally come to visit, but he also felt a little guilty about it. "You don't have be here, you know."

"I know that, McGee."

"Then, why, Boss?"

"You know very well why, McGee."

Tim looked at Gibbs and felt like he was going to cry...again. He didn't want to do that.

"I've been stuck in MTAC for the last three days. This was the earliest I could get out."

"What have you been doing?"

"Things that can only be discussed in MTAC."

"Right, of course, sorry."

"Don't apologize, McGee."

"Sor–," Tim began and then flushed. He couldn't think of anything to say. He felt silly, but he couldn't think of a single thing.

Gibbs just smiled and leaned back. He seemed in no hurry to leave and didn't appear to have any need to talk.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

"Thanks for coming." Gibbs just raised his eyebrows and Tim felt like he needed to say more. "I mean, it's so late and it's not like I can actually _do_ anything, even when I'm awake and..."

"What makes you think that you _have_ to do anything, McGee?"

"Well...it's just that..." Tim took a deep breath. "I hate having everyone come just to stare at me."

"That's not why we come, you know."

"I know. I really do, but it's like I'm so helpless."

"And you don't want to be that way?"

"Would you?" Tim asked.

"No. I wouldn't, but all things considered, I think that you don't have much choice."

"I know. That makes it worse. I told myself a long time ago that I wouldn't be the weakling."

"You think that fighting cancer makes you a weakling?"

"Doesn't it? I heard Dr. Scott talking to...one of the nurses. I can't remember which one. He said that it would be a miracle if the chemotherapy works the first time for me. I'll probably have to do this at least one more time...probably more. If I had waited one more week, it might have been too late. Now, I just have sit here and wait. There's nothing I can do."

"I'm still waiting for the part that makes you a weakling, McGee."

"I just have to sit here, Boss. It's already getting to the point that I can't even get up...and it's going to be like this...and worse."

"That's not weakness."

Tim smiled disbelievingly. "I'll take your word for it."

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't take my word for it. If you don't believe it, it won't mean anything at all." Gibbs leaned forward. "It's just like when we investigated the murder of those Korean sleeper agents. It can't be me telling you. It has to be you."

Tim struggled to get into a sitting position. "This is a little bit different from an NCIS investigation, Boss. It doesn't matter whether or not I'm satisfied. I'll still have cancer."

Gibbs unassumingly helped him and noticed Tim blush. "Yep, you will. It matters a lot more this time. This time, it's your life on the line."

"There's not much I can do about that."

"Not much, but there is something."

"What?"

"You could try _believing_ that everything will work out."

"I hope it will, Boss, but there's a much better chance that it won't. AML is a fairly rare cancer and it usually occurs in people over sixty. Only twenty to thirty percent of people who get it actually survive without a relapse. They tested Sarah; she's not a viable match. If they can't find someone in the donor pool, my relapse will more than likely be too much for my body to take and I'll die."

Gibbs leaned over at tapped Tim very gently on the back of the head. "Pretend that I just walloped you, McGee. You can't think like that. For one thing, you don't know that you'll relapse. You don't know that they won't find a viable donor. It doesn't matter what the percentages are. You probably know that already. What matters is that you _try_."

"I'm trying, Boss. I really am...it's just...I didn't know it was going to be so hard...and I'm only at the beginning." Tim dropped his head as he confessed...what he'd been fearing the last couple of days. "I don't know if I can do this. I mean...I don't know if I can physically do this."

"Well, I think you can...but that won't matter if you don't."

Tim slumped down on the bed and, again, Gibbs helped him, this time down onto his back. Tim looked up at Gibbs.

"Thanks, Boss."

"Go to sleep, McGee."

"I'll work on that, Boss," Tim said, his eyes already closing.

In five minutes, he was asleep and Gibbs sighed. He was more worried now than he'd been before.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Two more days passed with Tim feeling worse and worse. On the surface, he was keeping a fairly good attitude, even as more of his hair fell out, his weight continued to fall and he felt weaker and weaker. He was hovering on the limit of what his body could take, but Dr. Scott was determined to finish the course if it was possible, and Tim concurred. There was no sense in putting it off just to start it up again if they didn't have to. Still...Tim was feeling worse with each day because he knew that he was feeling nowhere _near_ as bad as he would be when he reached the nadir periods. The worse he felt physically, the more fear he felt emotionally. How much more could he take before he simply gave up?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Please, Mom, just go. You guys shouldn't be forced to eat hospital food if you don't have to," Tim said, annoyed that his voice sounded so raspy. He cleared his throat. It was a hopeless task.

"Are you sure, Tim? We can take it in shifts," Sam said.

"No. I'm sure. I'm sure that someone will be stopping by soon. They always do."

"Okay. We'll grab something. You want to try eating anything solid?"

Tim's stomach turned at the thought. "Not yet. I'm just getting used the sensation of _not_ needing to throw up every minute."

"Okay, Tim. I love you," Naomi whispered and kissed him on his rapidly balding head. Tim tried not to wince at the feeling.

"Tim, I'm sorry," Sarah said. She'd been apologizing for the last two days.

"Stop apologizing, Sarah. You know the odds weren't very good. We just have to hope for the donor pool," Tim said. He smiled. "You never know. Maybe I'll find out that I have a secret identical twin."

Naomi grinned from the doorway. "I'm pretty sure I'd know about that, Tim."

"Maybe a clone," Sarah said, covering the desire to cry.

"Well, that would be cool," Tim said and then sighed as yet another nurse came into the room. "Time to suck my blood?"

She smiled. "Yes, it's time to check your cell counts, Timothy. We also need to clean the central line."

Tim looked past her. "Well, as you can see, I'm having a great time here. I'll see you later. You know where I'll be."

Finally, the McGees left and Tim looked at his nurse. "Well?"

"Well, I know you don't appreciate it, but you'd appreciate necrosis a lot less."

Tim winced. "Yeah, I've seen pictures."

"Just how thorough were you in your research, Timothy?"

Tim shrugged as she drew out a blood sample and then began to sterilize the catheter and the skin around it.

"There's been very little that has surprised you since you've been here. Usually, there's _something_ that takes the patients by surprise."

"I spent the entire weekend after I was diagnosed reading about it," Tim admitted. "I can quote quite a few facts and figures. It didn't really make me feel any better though."

"So, has _anything_ surprised you?"

"Yeah."

"What?" she asked. "There. All done."

"How hard it is. Reading can't tell you that."

"No, it can't. No one is ever ready for that. How is the other catheter?"

Tim blushed and looked away, humiliated by the question, by the necessity. "It's fine."

"Hey, it won't last forever."

"I know."

"I'll get this to the lab."

"Have fun," Tim said and didn't look up until she left. He looked toward the bathroom. He just couldn't stand up without nearly passing out anymore. Three days of nausea had weakened him more than usual. Alone, for possibly the first time in days, Tim let out a deep sigh and reached his hand up to his head and ran it through what remained of his hair. A large clump came away as he dropped his hand back to the bed. _Maybe I should have just shaved it off._ It was stupid that he was so attached to it...or rather _had_ been so attached to it. It was just hair. It would grow back...if he lived that long.

"Probie! I'm your solitary visitor today," Tony announced as he walked into the room. "Ziva caught a cold and Gibbs is still sequestered in MTAC all day long. I had to nearly sterilize myself before I came. I thought Abby would be here by now."

"She came on her lunch break," Tim said, trying to cover his unshed tears, the hair clenched in his hand. "There's only so much people can say."

"That's why _I_ come bearing gifts, McGee!" Tony held out a three DVD set of _Indiana Jones_. "The fourth movie is out. You need to get the whole experience."

"I've seen them before, Tony," Tim said, suddenly feeling annoyed at Tony's presence. "I'm not really in the mood to watch a movie."

"Come on, Probie! It's not like you have anything else to do right now."

"Just...I'd rather be alone right now, okay, Tony?" Tim said, stung by Tony's comment, even though he knew it was not meant meanly.

"Hey, McGee, it was just a joke."

"It's not a joke, Tony." He held up the clump of hair and let it fall to the bed. Then, he ran his hand across his head again and drew away another clump. "This isn't a joke," he said, feeling the angry tears well up. "Okay? It's not a joke. You don't have any idea. Just go away!"

Tony didn't leave. He didn't even flinch. "Hey, McGee. Did you ever stop to think that I'm probably about the _only_ person who has the _slightest_ idea what you're going through? I didn't have cancer, but..."

Tim looked at him as the tears started to fall down his cheeks and realized how callous he'd been. "I'm sorry, Tony. I didn't mean that..."

Tony unexpectedly smiled. "Yeah, you did. That's okay. I didn't have to lose my hair."

Tim laughed. "That would have ruined your macho image, wouldn't it?"

"Of course, it would have, McGee," Tony said and then looked at Tim's head speculatively. "You know you should probably just shave your head and get it out of the way."

"I should have. I guess I was hoping that I'd buck the trend. I didn't think it would bother me so much. It shouldn't."

"Yeah, it should. You spent three years trying to make up for that unfortunate buzz. Of course you'd be upset by having to go back to it...but it seems pretty much inevitable."

"Yeah," Tim said, nodding.

"Well, then..." Tony walked into the bathroom and came back out with the electric razor Tim had packed before coming. He hadn't used it. "What do you say, McGee?" he asked, brandishing it threateningly.

"What? Are you going to shave me, Tony?"

"I think I could handle it. It doesn't take a lot of talent to cut all your hair off."

"True." Tim tried not to think about all his hair disappearing...but it was disappearing anyway. There was nothing he could do to stop it. An all-too-familiar litany. Nothing he could do.

"Well?" Tony asked. If he had acted any other way, Tim thought that he would have begun sobbing, but Tony was so matter-of-fact about it that he found that it didn't seem so awful.

"Okay. Bring it on."

Tony grinned and plugged it in. Tim felt a few tears as the locks began to fall, but they dried up as Tony started listing famous bald people.

"Patrick Stewart, Mr. Clean, Mr. T, Yul Brynner..."

Tim laughed but held still, knowing that a cut would be a bad thing.

"...Andre Agassi, Vin Diesel, Yoda..."

"Yoda?"

"Don't interrupt. Michael Jordan, Sinead O'Connor..."

"That's a girl, Tony."

"Shh!" Tony continued to shave and had to think for a few seconds. "...Telly Savalas, Ghandi, Charlie Brown, Shaquille O'Neal, Bruce Willis, Michael Chiklis... Ah, done!" Tony turned off the razor and looked at Tim appraisingly.

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Well? How horrific is the result?"

Tony pursed his lips. "I'm not sure, McGee. Would you like to see? I'll help you to a mirror."

Tim considered. He wasn't sure he was ready to see himself bald. While he thought, Tony began to clean up the hair he'd just cut off. _Not looking won't change what I look like._ "Okay."

"All right, McGee." Tony whipped off the blanket and helped Tim stand up. "You okay?"

"Dizzy. I haven't been upright in a couple of days," Tim said, making sure to grab his IV as they navigated the distance to the bathroom. It was a good thing Tony was there because Tim felt as though he'd collapse on his own. Tony reached in and flicked the light. Then, he pulled Tim inside and let him look in the mirror.

"What do you think, McGee?" he asked, not a trace of mockery.

Tim stared at himself. He had the look of a person who had lost too much weight in too little time. He was beyond pale. He was white...and bald. Slowly, he reached his hand up and rubbed his newly hairless head. He felt near tears again, but he managed to hold them back this time.

"Well?" Tony asked again.

"I don't think the bald look works for me," Tim said, a sad smile on his face.

"Consider it an experiment."

"Right. I think I need to get back in bed now."

"All right." Tony helped him back and then looked at him. "So? Ready for a marathon?"

Tim smiled. "I don't think I'll last through a marathon, but...sure, why not?"

"Great!" Tony put in _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ and sat down beside Tim. It didn't take long for Tim to fall asleep again, maybe half an hour. As soon as he was asleep, Tony got up and turned off the movie. "I'll wait until you're up again," he said to his slumbering friend. "I'm so sorry, Tim."

Tim didn't hear him.


	9. Chapter 8: Anticlimactic

**Chapter 8: Anticlimactic**

Finally, _finally_ it was the last day of the actual chemotherapy. Although everyone else felt rather excited at the prospect, Tim himself felt only resigned...because he knew that he wouldn't suddenly start getting better. In fact, he'd more than likely start feeling worse as the drugs continued to destroy his cells. His reaction had been so extreme anyway that Dr. Scott was already discussing putting him in isolation. As the first nadir period approached, he was being more stringent on how and when people visited. The nurses would check and clean the IV line, the central line and the catheter every day. The cell and platelet counts would increase in frequency. Tim's reaction to all this was...a sigh. It wasn't like there was anything he could do about it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Naomi! Hurry it up," Sam called from the bedroom. "And you say _I_ take a long time in the shower." There was no answer from the bathroom and Sam rolled over to the door. "Naomi?"

When he opened it, he saw Naomi, clad only in her towel, sitting on the edge of the tub, crying.

"Hey, what's wrong? Besides the obvious."

Naomi sat up. "Just the obvious. It's only been a week and already he looks like he could be dead." More tears poured down her cheeks as she spoke.

"But he's not, Naomi."

"Yesterday, I hugged him good-bye. Your sister's granddaughter has a stronger grip than Tim does right now..." she laughed. "...and more hair."

"We knew that Tim was going to be bald for a while."

"When I went back to get my purse? He was crying. He was _sobbing_, Sam," Naomi said. "When I asked him why, he didn't say anything. He just rubbed his head. It doesn't matter that we already knew it would happen. I hate seeing my baby so sick."

"Come here," Sam said, rolling forward closer to Naomi. He kissed her gently on each cheek where the tears had fallen. "Tim's tough. He'll make it."

Naomi hugged him tightly. "Sam, this is so hard."

"I know."

After a few moments, she leaned back. "I never thought Tim would go bald before you."

Sam smiled. "Hey, I'm not going bald. Now, why don't you give me a little strip tease and finish getting ready. We should be there for the last shot...even if it's not the end."

Naomi chuckled and slugged Sam on the arm. "Disgraceful. And you call yourself a gentleman."

"Where do you think all the 19th-century gentlemen went in their free time?" Sam said, with a false leer.

"Yuck! Out! Out..."

"...damn spot? Was that coming next?" Sam asked.

Naomi wiped her eyes. "I had something else in mind."

"Fine, fine." He looked back toward the bedroom as his phone started to ring. "Saved by the bell."

"Who? Me or you?"

"Me, of course." Sam rolled out and Naomi began to get dressed. A few minutes later, she noticed that the bedroom was too quiet.

"Sam?"

"Naomi."

"What is it? What's wrong? Is it Tim?" Naomi ran to the doorway.

"No. It's not. It wasn't the hospital. It was..." Sam sighed, but it was more frustration than anything. "The university bureaucracy is trying to reject my request for extended leave during the summer."

"What? Why?"

"Because of how much time I had to take off last year when I got sick. That was Ed on the phone. He's trying to smooth it over, but if he can't, I'll have to go back next week for my class."

"No!" Naomi came and sat on the bed, facing Sam. "Tim _needs_ you here. _We_ need you..._here_! I thought you had already made arrangements for Julie to take your summer course."

"I had. She agreed and Ed cleared it, but somewhere in the processing...someone outside the department got a hold of it. I did miss an entire month last year...plus all the other days I always miss every year."

"Well, you can just call them up and tell them where they can put their rejection," Naomi said angrily.

"I told you. Ed's taking care of it..._diplomatically_. I hardly think that telling the people who sign my paychecks what to do with their rejection will win friends and influence people."

"It's just..." Naomi stood up and began to pace. "...this is the last thing we need right now!"

"Worst case scenario, I'll go back for the month and teach my course and then come here afterwards."

"Tim could be halfway through another bout by then!"

"I know. Naomi, I don't like this either, but I can't afford to lose my job. You know that."

Naomi stopped pacing and walked back into the bathroom. She didn't speak again until she finished getting ready. Sam didn't speak either. He just waited. When she came out, she was much less agitated. She sat on the bed and took Sam's hand.

"Why can't things be easy for once?"

Sam lifted her hand and kissed it. "I don't know, Naomi. It's just not our lot in life."

Naomi took Sam's other hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Don't you have a morale-raising quotation for this moment, Sam?"

"Not particularly."

"Then, what do you have?"

"Thomas Fuller. 'All things are difficult before they are easy.'"

"And how does that fit into our current situation?"

"Only because I remember how hard it was when I was first paralyzed and how normal it is for us now. Even this can get easier. I don't know how, but maybe it can."

"I hope you're right, Sam...because I can't see it."

Sam pulled Naomi close. "Neither can I. We just have to pray that we will."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So...this is going to...help, is it?" Tim asked the nurse.

"It's a blood transfusion. Your cell counts are already pretty low. This will help them get slightly closer to normal. You're definitely near the first nadir period."

"That's a good thing, right?" Abby asked. She had snuck in before work that morning.

"Good? Well, that's not the term I would use," the nurse answered. "Necessary."

"Oh." Abby wasn't sure to say for a moment. "I hate this mask," she said finally. "It's makes my face all itchy."

"It's not very flattering either," Tim said.

"You're one to talk," she retorted, her eyes crinkling up as she smiled. "You're like...like..."

"Like what?" Tim asked, grinning.

"I don't know, but I'll think of something. Just you wait."

"I don't know how I'll stand the anticipation."

Abby carefully threaded her arms around the tubes and bags and gave Tim a long gentle hug. He returned it, much more softly.

"Is Gibbs still in MTAC?"

"Yeah. I think he barely leaves. No one knows what he's doing...and we all know better than to ask. Lee's been TAD-ed to the team to make up for the absences. I think Tony is about ready to kill either himself or everyone else...he's temporarily 'in charge' while Gibbs is trapped in MTAC."

"Poor Tony."

"You don't sound very sympathetic."

Tim smiled again. "Tony, surrounded by attractive females...I have a hard time feeling sympathy."

"Attractive females?" Abby asked, her eyebrows rising.

"Sure. You, Ziva, Lee...even Director Shephard, I suppose."

"It's a good thing you put me first."

"Would I dare do anything else?"

"Not if you want to keep breathing."

"Well, I do...so I'll keep you at the top of the list."

"Timothy, I hate to interrupt, but..."

Tim flushed and looked away.

"What?"

"They have to...clean everything," Tim said, his voice full of embarrassment.

"What do you–oh...I guess that my cue to leave," Abby said, rallying quickly. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, Abby."

Abby gave a last wave from the doorway and then she was gone. Tim looked up at the nurse.

"All right. Let's get it over with."

"It won't take long," she said, smiling.

It's not the time," he said softly. _It's the action itself...but there's nothing I can do about it._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"That's it. That's the last dose," Dr. Scott said.

"Rather anticlimactic, isn't it?" Tim asked.

"That's better than excitement, Tim." Dr. Scott looked around at the other McGees in the room. "We'll be hitting the first nadir period within the next couple of days. If you feel sick at _all_, please don't come. Always wear a mask and wash your hands often. So far, we've managed to prevent any sort of infection, but it will get harder as the cell counts drop. Let's make this as easy as possible."

"Of course," Naomi answered quickly. "I'm pretty sure we all want that."

Tim raised a timid hand. "I have a question."

"What, there's something you _don't_ know about this process, Tim?" Dr. Scott asked.

"When will we know if this worked?"

"Not until after the next nadir period when your bone marrow starts working again. We'll run tests as your body begins recovering. If we don't find any blasts in your bloodstream, then we'll know that you're in remission and we can start discussing the post-remission therapy."

"Okay...and if you do?"

"Then, we'll let you recover for a while and we'll have to do this again...but let's focus on being positive, shall we?"

Tim sighed. "Look, I already know that this first round is probably not going to work. I already know that we'll probably have to go through this again. Being positive doesn't mean that we have to be delusional."

"A single course of chemotherapy _has_ resulted in remission, Tim. I'm not being delusional. I've seen it myself."

"Dr. Scott, could you give a moment, please?" Sam asked.

"Of course."

As soon as he was gone, Sam looked at Tim who had returned to staring at his hands.

"What's going on, Tim?"

"Nothing, Dad. I'm just tired."

"No, that's not it."

Tim looked up. "Then, why don't _you_ tell me what it is? ...since you know so much." His tone wasn't angry. In fact, there was little emotion in it at all.

"Tim," Sarah reached out.

"No...please, don't touch me," Tim said, tears coming into his eyes. Sarah withdrew, stung. "I don't want feel how...normal you are, how easy it is for you to move, to...live. I don't want to know how different I am." He wrapped his arms around himself and began to cry.

Sarah looked at Sam and Naomi, her face crumpling. Sam gestured with his head for her to hug Tim anyway. She asked the question with her eyes. He just nodded and gestured again.

"Tim," Sarah said again and timidly put her arms over Tim's arms and hugged him. He tried to push her away at first, but he couldn't...and he didn't really want to. Even if he _had_ wanted to...he was too weak to even fight off Sarah's petite form.

"Tim, I love you. I don't care what you look like or how different you are. I still love you. Please, please, let me."

"What's wrong, Tim?" Sam asked again.

"I'm afraid..."

"Of what?"

"...hoping. What if I try and I fail? What if I still die?" Sarah tightened her arms around him. "I don't want to die. I don't want to die...like this."

"You won't, Tim. You won't."

"You don't know that. You can't. None of us can. We just have to wait. There's else I can do. I don't have any choice. I just have sit and sit and hope I don't die." Tim stopped trying to fight Sarah's arms. "I just...don't want to die."

"I don't want you to die, either, Tim," Sarah said, thickly.

"Tim, you have nothing to lose by hoping...and everything to gain," Naomi said. "Believe it. It might make the difference."

"Mom, what if I can't?"

"Then, you fight and don't be afraid of losing. The important thing is that you keep fighting."

"But what if I lose?"

"Then, you lose...but at least you'll lose fighting the whole way."

"Sarah?" Tim said after a few seconds of silence.

"Yeah?"

"Can you loosen your hold? I think my arms are about to fall off."

Sarah laughed and let him go.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Tim said.

"Me, too."

Tim looked at his family and felt a deep lethargy take over. He knew it was probably a way for him to avoid everything, but he really _was_ tired. He blinked slowly and tried to smile at his masked family. Then...he slept, knowing that nothing had really been resolved, but also knowing that he just couldn't resolve it right then.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim reached the first nadir period and then...he began to climb out of it. No major infections, no illnesses...beyond the cancer that was already there. Dr. Scott was relieved and Tim himself seemed to cheer up a little. There was a second nadir period that would be worse than the first, but his platelet count had already reached rock bottom and was slowly improving. People came and went as usual...except for Ziva, who was still trying to get rid of her cold and was extremely annoyed that it was lingering...and Gibbs, who was still working in MTAC.

Finally, at around 4:30 a.m. on the sixteenth day since Tim had started his chemotherapy, Gibbs was able to leave MTAC. He was tired, very tired. This operation had taken over his entire life, it seemed...but thankfully, it was over...they all hoped, at least. _His_ part was finished for the immediate future, however. He could just wait until the day came, get some sleep first, but something told him to go to the hospital right then. He hadn't ever ignored his gut and he wasn't about to start at that moment. So he went. He snuck by the nurse on duty. She might have seen him, but she didn't make any sign. Gibbs grinned to himself and stopped at Tim's door to put on a mask. He'd already washed and sanitized his hands when he'd first come into the hospital.

As soon as he stepped into the room, he felt as though something was wrong. For one thing, Tim was awake. Considering how much time he spent sleeping, it was odd for him to be awake, particularly at this moment.

"McGee?"

Tim's breath was shaky and he turned his eyes to Gibbs. "Boss?"

"Yeah."

"I...think there's something wrong. I feel..."

Gibbs walked over to the bed and put his hand on Tim's forehead.

"You're warm."

"I'm sick." Tim looked terrified.

A part of Gibbs' mind laughed at the statement. Of course, Tim was sick. He had cancer...but the rest of his mind was racing at warp speed through all the many dangers of getting _any_ kind of illness with no immune system to stop it. He reached over and pushed the call button. It must have come on fairly suddenly...or else someone had _really_ dropped the ball.

"What is it, Timothy?" the nurse asked.

"He has a fever," Gibbs said.

"Oh..." She took one look at Tim and nodded gravely. "I'll be right back."

Two minutes later, Dr. Scott was in the room. He looked at Gibbs and then at Tim...who was looking more and more frightened by the minute.

"Tim, don't panic. It's all right. Just breathe." He pulled out his stethoscope and listened. "Get an antibiotic drip ready. We'll need to start it right away," he instructed. "And prep Isolation. I don't think we can leave him out here any longer." He looked back to Tim. "Okay, Tim. We're going to get things straightened out. It's okay. We'll be moving you into Isolation so that we can control the environment better.

Tim looked at him with frightened eyes. "Am I going to die?"

"No," Dr. Scott said firmly. "No, you're not. It's just a small infection and we've caught soon enough that we can treat it."

Gibbs watched as they wheeled Tim out...left behind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They _could_ treat it, but they couldn't stop it. Within a day, Tim's fever turned into pneumonia. His leukocyte count, already low, plummeted as he reached the second nadir. Now confined to isolation, the only people allowed in and out were hospital staff. Tim didn't really notice that anyway. His illness pushed him over the edge and he was only barely conscious. He began coughing, shaking with chills that wouldn't go away. He was put on oxygen and they continued to pump antibiotics into his bloodstream, hoping to kill off the bacterial infection. All anyone could do was wait...and pray.


	10. Chapter 9: Recovery?

**Chapter 9: Recovery?**

It was like a repeat of his worst nightmare...only this time, _he_ was the one outside the glass, looking in on someone possibly dying. He wondered if it had been this hard for the others to see _him _struggle for breath, to see _him _cough and wheeze. Maybe it was so hard because he _knew_ what it was like.

Tony stared through the glass and then looked at the doctor beside him. "Please, Dr. Scott, can I please go in? I'll go through the whole decon thing: gowns, masks, gloves. I'll do _all_ of it. I don't like to see him in there all alone."

"He's barely aware of his surroundings right now, anyway," Dr. Scott said wearily.

"Barely! But he _is_ aware somewhat, right?"

"Yes...somewhat."

"Then, let me go in."

"We're not even letting his _family_ in there right now."

"I know...but I know how this feels...for McGee. I went through something like this once, and one of the things that helped was that I had friend stay behind with me, even at a risk to her own life. Knowing that she was there made all the difference in the world."

Dr. Scott looked beyond him into Isolation. Tim lay pale and still on the bed, his eyes closed, pulse slow, but finally steady. It was still touch and go, but there was more hope now than there had been even six hours ago.

"Please, Doc."

"Okay...but _only _if you get permission from his family...because if I let you in, I definitely can't let in anyone else...and you can't just go in and out. This is a one-time entrance. You stay as long as you like, but then, you'll have to go and wait."

"Okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Please, Sam. I know that you all would want to be there, that you're probably more worried than I am, but this one thing I can do for him. This is one place I really do understand." He didn't like begging, or being so serious, but this meant more to him than he could possibly say. He wasn't sure he could adequately explain it, not even to himself. He waited tensely for an answer.

There was a sigh. "Yes. Of course, Tony. Naomi will probably want to kill me for this, but...if you can help him, then you _should_ be there."

"Thank you, Sam. I don't know how to say thanks enough."

There was a long sigh on the other end of the line and then Sam's tear-filled voice. "If you can help our son recover...that's thanks enough."

"I'll do my best."

"That's all we can ask." Sam hung up and Tony nodded to Dr. Scott who looked resigned. He gestured.

"Let's go."

"Right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Tony stepped into the room, he felt very strange. First of all, he was wearing a cap, a gown, a mask, and gloves. Barely any of his skin was showing. Second of all, he was back in a room that still gave him nightmares on occasion, not that he'd ever admitted it. He wondered why he'd been so adamant about coming in here.

Then, it came to him: He'd never thanked Kate for being there. He'd never said how much it had meant to him. She had probably known, but he should have said...and he never did...and he never could. But now, he could at least do the same thing she had and be there.

He sat down beside the bed. Tim looked almost skeletal. His skin was stretched taut over his skull giving him a frightening appearance. His arms were flabby from all the weight he'd lost. The coughing had mostly stopped, thank goodness. It had been horrible to stand outside the glass and watch the severe coughing fits shake his weak frame.

"Hey, Tim? I just want you to know that I'm here for you. It's Tony...in case you can't tell underneath all this flattering hospital garb."

No response.

"I know how this feels. I told you before...and I still don't know the cancer part of it, but I _know_ this part."

Tim breathed. It wasn't a soft, sleeping breath. It was a loud wheezing breath, indicating the continued presence of infection.

"I've been here before, McGee...well, not _here_. I was at Bethesda. Actually, you know it's not very nice of you to show me up like this. You can't _only_ have pneumonia. You have to have pneumonia as a result of chemotherapy. You can't _only_ be in isolation. You also have to be nearly in a coma. You always have to be trying to one-up me, don't ya, McGee."

The door opened and in came one of the nurses. It was impossible to tell which one. She nodded at Tony and checked Tim's vitals. Tony stopped talking and watched her. She replaced the IV bag. When she was finished, she began to walk out, but she stopped and patted Tony on the shoulder.

"This is good thing you're doing for him," she said.

"Maybe I'm not really doing it for him," Tony said.

"Maybe not completely, but that doesn't change anything. He'll hear you, and that matters."

Tony looked at Tim again after she left. He hadn't moved. He wondered how long it would take for Tim to wake up. It had already been four days.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ed, you had better have good news," Naomi warned. "Otherwise, I may just hurl this phone out the window and pretend it got stolen."

"Naomi!" Sam called, holding out his hand.

"_Don't start sharpening your claws just yet, Naomi. Could I speak to Sam, please?"_

"That depends."

Sam rolled up and tried to grab the phone. "Naomi!"

Naomi easily held it out of his reach. "I'm waiting, Ed."

"_Naomi..."_

"Naomi! Give me that phone or..."

"Or what, Sam?"

"Or...I start singing KISS at you."

Naomi smiled. "It might be worth it." But she gave him the phone anyway.

"Sorry, Ed. Naomi's in her she-bear mode," Sam said and then ducked as a pillow came flying at his head. "What's up?"

Naomi sat on the bed and waited anxiously as Sam listened.

"You're sure, Ed? I don't want this to come up again next year...or the year after." Sam listened again. "Okay. _Thank_ you." He sighed. "Yes, I'll tell Tim...when we get to see him again. Thanks. Bye."

"What did he say?"

Sam gave a tight smile. "We'd better hope that I don't sick again in the next year. I have absolutely no leave saved up after this."

"But you can stay?"

"Yes. I can stay. All hail the FMLA."

Naomi gave a sigh of relief and hugged Sam tightly. "I don't know if I could do this without you, Sam."

"I don't want you to have to," he said, but at the same time, he hoped that everything would work out because it was hard to have very little leave saved. He just hoped that Tim would recover. That was more important than English literature.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim opened his eyes, but Tony didn't see him. He was dozing...but he didn't want to leave. He had this idea in his head that he could stay until Tim woke up so that he knew he wasn't alone. Of course, if Tim didn't wake up soon, he'd have to leave anyway. Nature would start to call more insistently, and Isolation didn't have a handy urinal.

"Who's...there?" Tim asked, each word punctuated by a wheezing breath.

"Probie," Tony said, opening his own eyes and verifying that, yes, Tim was indeed awake and speaking.

"You don't...look...so good...Tony," Tim wheezed.

"Neither do you."

"I have...license. I have...cancer...and...what else...do I have?"

"Pneumonia."

"Oh...and...pneumonia. I _should_...look terrible. What's...your excuse?" Tim asked, smiling through the oxygen mask.

"I thought that the mask and gown were quite flattering, actually," Tony said, smiling, even though he knew Tim couldn't see his face.

Tim gave a weak chuckle which ended in a fit of coughing. He panted for a few seconds.

"What...are you doing...in here?"

"Keeping you company."

"But I've been mostly...unconscious."

"So?"

"So...why?"

"I couldn't wait to get back into the blue room."

Tim chuckled...and then coughed again. "Don't...make me laugh...It...hurts."

"Sorry, Probie."

"'S okay. I figure...you've been...aching to tease me again... It must be...hard to have to be...nice."

"What's put you in such a peppy mood?"

"Why are you here?" Tim countered.

"I told you."

"Really...Tony...why?"

"Like I told you. To keep you company." Tony tried not to notice how awful Tim's breathing sounded, how weak he looked...but it was pretty much impossible.

"Tony...you can be...serious. I won't...tell anyone."

"Promise?" Tony grinned again.

"Cross my...heart...Hope to..."

"Don't finish that."

"Answer my question...and I'll...answer yours."

"Fine." Tony looked around melodramatically and Tim smiled again. "It's because...I told you before. I _know_ how this feels. I was here...not _here_, but here in this situation, and I know how it feels to be in your position...and..."

"Go...on, Tony."

"I know how it feels when you know that someone else is there...not just a doctor or a nurse, as nice they as are, but someone you know. Kate did that for me, and I never said thanks. I knew that she wasn't sick...not at first but later on, and she was there for me. Even though I drove her crazy all the time...she still was there. I think that probably helped me more than Gibbs' headslap."

Tim smiled and laughed...and coughed. "Did...you tell...Gibbs that?"

"Are you kidding? I like my life."

The smiled faded. "What...was it like...for you? I don't...think I...ever asked."

"It's worse for you...by far. Believe me."

"Why?"

"Nope, Probie. I answered your question. Now, you answer mine."

"You remind me...of that...crazy lady...from the psyche...ward. She...did the...same thing."

"What do you mean?"

"She'd only...answer my questions...if I...answered hers."

"Well? Why are you so upbeat? I mean, I'm not complaining, but you were doing okay and you were about to cast yourself off into oblivion and now, you're...well, not doing so well, and you're positively cheerful. Horrible-sounding, but cheerful."

"You really...want to know?"

"Yeah, McGee. I do."

"It's...kind of stupid."

"What?"

"Gibbs was...there."

"Where? What are you talking about?"

Tim closed his eyes and breathed for a few seconds. Tony was afraid that he was about to go out again, but then, Tim reopened his eyes and resumed.

"I...woke up...and I knew...something was wrong. I thought...that maybe...I was really dying...because...I knew how bad it was...to be sick during chemo. I was in my...room alone...afraid...and then...Gibbs came in. I'd...been awake for...maybe five minutes...and he was there. As they...wheeled me away...I thought...how amazing...it was that there was...someone there right...when I needed...them..." Tim looked away from Tony...not moving his body, just his eyes, to something that only he could see. "...I realized...even as it became harder and harder...to breathe...to think...that there was _always_...someone right there. I knew...that even if I died...I wouldn't...die alone." He stopped again and breathed noisily. A few tears fell, but he was smiling at the same time. "I still don't...know."

"Know what, McGee?" Tony asked, afraid of the trend of the conversation.

"If I'm...going to live...or die. Don't...try to deny it...we all...know it's...still a possibility. But...it doesn't...matter. Do you know...why?"

"Enlighten me."

"Because...I owe it to...all of you...to try...as best I can...to live...but I can...be...secure knowing that...even if I die...it won't be because...everyone left. Gibbs...was there...and there was no reason...for him to come...right at that...moment, but he did. There's...no reason for _you_ to...be here right now...but you _are_."

"Still not following."

Still looking at something Tony couldn't see, Tim elaborated. "Maybe there's a reason...for me to try...even if I fail. Maybe...I'm supposed to live...maybe not...but as long as I try..."

"So, you're not afraid anymore?"

"No...Tony. I'm...terrified." Tim's eyes became shadowed. "I don't...want to die, but...now, my fear...isn't...as important as my...hope. Were..._you_ afraid?"

"Of what?"

"Dying."

"Yeah."

"How did...you get over it?"

"I recovered," Tony said shortly.

"But..."

"It wasn't as bad for me, McGee. I got over the hump and recovered. I have to admit that when I was actually in danger of dying, I was pretty much only thinking about breathing, not dying...not really."

"I've...thought about it...a lot."

"That's because you have too much time to think...and you think too much anyway."

"That's true." Tim continued to stare.

"What are you looking at, Probie?"

"Nothing."

"Well, that's all I'm seeing, too, but it sure is holding your interest."

"Did you...know...that I'll probably...be sterile after this?"

"Way too much information, McGee."

"It's strange...to think about...you know? That...even if I ever do...get married...I likely...won't be...able to have kids." Tim smiled at the distance. "Mom and Dad...will be disappointed."

"McGee...stop staring. It's making me nervous."

Tim didn't stop staring. "It's not like I have...any prospects or...anything like that. It's...just that I always...planned on it. Things...changed for you, didn't they?"

"Not like that, McGee."

"Of course...not. With the whole...Ari thing...and Kate dying...what happened to...you kind of faded...away. We just...didn't think about...it...or at least..._I_ didn't. I probably...should have. There were...a lot of things...that hit you all...at once...but when things...are serious...you don't want us to...ask...or at least...you _act_ like you don't...want us to ask."

"It's easier that way, McGee," Tony said. He was getting very unnerved by the way Tim kept staring.

"Easier, maybe, but not...right."

"I choose that way, McGee."

"But...I shouldn't let...you."

Tony wasn't used to being so serious...not for such a long period of time, but he was on edge now and he couldn't joke.

"Hey, Tim, I know you care. You make it more obvious than anyone...except Abby. You don't hide things very well. It's okay. I don't want you coming back to work in a few months and acting all touchy-feely about it all. We're friends. That's what matters."

Tim didn't respond. He just kept breathing for a little while...loudly...slowly. Tony thought he was going back to sleep. He was going to leave, but then...

"Tony?"

"What?"

"I'm...glad...you're... ...here."

"Why?"

The noisy breathing stopped.

"Tim?"

No response. No breathing.

"Tim!"


	11. Chapter 10: Pulled from the Edge

**Chapter 10: Pulled from the Edge**

Time was frozen in that moment of realizing that Tim had stopped breathing. It was an agonizing moment that couldn't seem to end, and Tony, for the first time in his life, thought he might just understand the concept of time dilation. Tim didn't look any different than he had when he was breathing...it was the sound that was missing. He was still bald, white, thin...he was still _Tim_, but his grip on life was gone...illustrated by the sudden cessation of the noisy breaths that had so disturbed Tony before. What he now realized was that the silence was infinitely worse than any wheezing sound Tim could have made. ...or so he thought...

Then, time moved on and Dr. Scott and one of the nurses were there, working on Tim, getting him to breathe again. It seemed to take forever, but in reality, it was less than a minute before there was a loud, long, weak gasp for air. Then, the little bit of air that had been taken in rushed out in a fit of coughing that seemed too strong for Tim to tolerate, too much force, too much energy. In between, he tried to breathe in and Tony winced in sympathy, knowing how it felt to have the air going out and not being able to bring any back in. He backed up a few steps, trying to give the medical personnel more room to work, to help...and then, Tim's eyes opened as he struggled to inhale.

He met Tony's eyes, the only part of him showing behind all the garb, and what Tim said was harder to hear than the silence.

Each word cost Tim dearly, a bit of air that he could ill afford to lose...but what he said was more important, more important even than air.

"Please..." Tim coughed again as his lungs tried to expel the fluid clogging up the airways. "...don't... ...go..." Another coughing fit, but somehow, Tim managed to keep his eyes on Tony. "...not... ...al-...-one..."

Tony looked from Tim to Dr. Scott who merely gestured for Tony to come back to the bed. With a feeling of slight reluctance, he did.

And he stayed...all through the agonizing minutes (it felt like years) that Tim coughed and gasped. He held him up, reliving his own experience...from the outside this time.

_He doesn't have the plague. Pneumonia is much less serious,_ Tony tried to reassure himself as another coughing fit shook Tim. _If you're healthy, it's less serious_, reality intruded mercilessly, _but Tim isn't healthy._

"Come on, McGee. Just breathe."

Tim's hand reached out and grabbed Tony's arm...with a grip stronger than Tony would have thought possible under the circumstances.

"Is... it... the... ...same?" Tim's words were nearly unintelligible through the desperation for air.

"No," Tony said, feeling the tears that he didn't want to shed. "No, it's so much worse. I'd rather go through it again myself than watch."

In spite of the coughing, in spite of the struggle, Tim smiled. "Trade..."

"If only I could, Tim."

Tim coughed, each fit seeming to do less for him. Each violent release of breath seemed to only bring Tim closer to having none at all.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

...then, suddenly, without warning, the coughing stopped and Tim was back to the slow steady wheeze he'd been using before. He slumped back and his eyes closed, his mouth moving, but no sound coming out...except for the wheeze, of course.

Tony sighed with a relief so deep that he wasn't sure he could stay upright for a second.

"Is he...going to be all right?" he asked, cursing a voice that sounded so fearful, so unlike himself.

Dr. Scott sighed himself and shook his head. "He could be."

Tony just nodded. That was all they could ever say, really. All they could ever give were possibilities...but at least, Tim was breathing again. Not well. Not efficiently...but he was breathing. That was something.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It wasn't much, but it turned out to be enough. Tim teetered on the brink for three more days. Tony was finally forced to leave, but Dr. Scott did begin to allow visits from others. One per day. Tim didn't wake up during those three days...or if he did, he gave no sign. Tony didn't get to ask him what he had seen, others took the allowed visiting hours, but he didn't forget it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

On the fourth day after his near death, the twenty-fourth since he had started chemotherapy, Tim woke up. It wasn't exciting, not as such. No one was staring eagerly at his face, waiting for his eyes to open. He didn't give a huge gasp and regain consciousness. It was in the early hours of the morning. No one was there. It was in the brief periods between visits, whether family, friends or medical staff. Dr. Scott had been adamant that everyone needed to get sleep, that it wouldn't help Tim if they all exhausted themselves as well. Soon, there would be people around. Soon, another one of the nurses, whose names he had never bothered to learn, would come in and check his vitals...but for now, there was no one.

Breathing was still more difficult than it should be, but at least he could take a breath and feel as though he was actually getting oxygen. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. There were chairs outside the window, lots of them, more than probably _should_ be there. Tim smiled to himself. He liked that thought. Then, his smile faded as he looked over toward the corner of the room. He wondered if it had merely been a dream, a hallucination brought on by his oxygen-starved, fever-addled brain. Tony hadn't seen what he had seen. Real or not, it was gone now. He'd never know.

Tim tried to think about how he felt. He was fairly certain that any real attempt at movement would end with him either gasping for breath or in a limp heap on the floor...probably both. And yet...it wasn't as depressing as it had been. He could feel the fear and the anger and the self-loathing hovering around the edges of what he was feeling now, but they weren't the dominant emotions.

_Why not?_ He fell asleep again, wondering.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Yes, I am perfectly healthy now, Tony," Ziva insisted.

"Are you sure?"

"_YES!_"

"I mean, _really_ sure?"

"Tony, you sound more like a mother than McGee's mother does."

Tony stopped as they walked down the hallway toward Isolation. "I do not!"

"Yes, you do," Ziva said, grinning maliciously. "I have taken many precautions to be sure that I did not pass my illness off to anyone else, and now I am well. I wish to see him. Dr. Scott said that it was fine."

"When did you talk to Dr. Scott?"

"This morning."

"He's not even awake, you know."

"For now. That does not mean he will not wake up while I am there. He did for you."

Tony caught the edge in her tone. "Yeah, and then he almost died."

Ziva stopped and turned around. "Are you trying to make me believe that you would rather be somewhere else, even with McGee almost dying?" Her smiled mellowed. "You would not. Neither would I. It is hard to see, but it is even harder, just to hear about it, without ever seeing."

Tony couldn't think of an answer to that, and Ziva knew she had won. She continued down the hall.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up...again, and realized that there was someone else there. He tried to decide whether or not it was worth actually joining the conscious world...but then, he remembered how much there was waiting for him and he opened his eyes.

"Ziva," he whispered in surprise.

"McGee!" The happiness in her voice was genuine, and a little surprising. "I did not think you would wake up yet."

"What...I haven't...been sleeping long...enough yet?" Tim asked, smiling. "Are you all...recovered?"

"I should be asking _you_ that question, McGee. I only had a cold."

Tim laughed a little...and he didn't cough. "Isn't the answer...to that question...pretty obvious?"

"I suppose. I am completely recovered. I would not be here, otherwise."

"True. Two...obvious questions..."

"McGee," Ziva began.

"I'm...alive, Ziva. That's...more than I could say...before."

"If you were dead, you would not be saying anything at all."

Tim grinned, a pale shadow of his usual expression, but it was a real smile.

"You look...better in scrubs than...Tony does."

Ziva chuckled. "I look better than Tony does anyway."

Tim tried to leer, but that was too much to accomplish in his current state. He looked toward the corner of the room, just to make sure that what he had seen before wasn't there again. He hadn't understood it before, but now, whether it was real or not, he thought he did...it had been a warning. Then, he looked toward the window and saw Tony...and his family, all outside, staring at him.

"We have...an audience, Ziva."

Ziva looked over her shoulder. "I would give them something to enjoy watching, but I cannot with this mask over my face."

Tim blushed, and he knew Ziva noticed it.

"I don't...know what you mean, Ziva."

Ziva leaned right over and whispered in his ear. "You just _wish_ you didn't know what I meant, McGee."

"Ziva...my parents are here," Tim said, blushing again.

"Good thing for you that I am masked, then, yes?"

Tim laughed again, but this time, he coughed. "Stop...it, Ziva."

"Should I speak more loudly, McGee?"

"No!" Tim looked desperately toward the window. "Hey...Dad...how are...things?"

Ziva whispered, "Sneaky, McGee. Do not worry. I will not embarrass you further."

"Thank you," Tim whispered back, but the look in his eyes made her wonder _what_ he was thanking her for.

"Better now that you're awake," Sam was saying. "Are you feeling any better?"

In spite of the awful wheeze, Tim could answer fairly optimistically. "A...little. I still...feel a bit...under the weather."

"I wonder why," Tony said, drily.

Tim smiled and then looked at Ziva again. "Is Gibbs...still stuck in MTAC?"

Ziva looked at Tony and Tim noticed something.

"No, he is not."

"What...is it, Ziva?"

"Nothing, McGee." If Tim hadn't seen her expression moments before, he _might_ have believed her.

"What...happened?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying." Tim looked at the group at the window again. "Where's Abby? Where's Ducky?"

Ziva was silent.

Tim looked at Tony. "What is it...Tony? What...is going on?"

Still no one answered, and finally, Tim got angry.

"Tell me!" he shouted and then had another coughing fit. Ziva had to hold him as he tried to breathe calmly again. "Please..."

Tony finally relented and nodded at Ziva.

"Gibbs is in Bethesda."

"The Naval Hospital?" Tim asked, feeling a measure of dread.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He was undercover, part of an operation. We still don't know what it was. Only he and Jenny were in on it. Abby and Ducky are with him."

"Is he...okay?"

"We hope so."

Tim leaned back, drained by more than coughing. It seemed impossible that something else could have happened to Gibbs. It wasn't enough that he had been shot by a terrorist, nearly blown up and then poisoned over the last couple of years. Now...he was injured again. As he continued to breathe, he lost most of his desire to speak. He was just overwhelmed at the thought of Gibbs injured again...and by the fact that once again, he wouldn't visit Gibbs in the hospital. Tim hadn't...not once...and this time...he couldn't.


	12. Chapter 11: Another Stage

**Chapter 11: Another Stage**

"Any change?" Tony asked.

"I'm afraid not, Tony," Ducky answered. "He is still unconscious. However, the doctors are quite hopeful that he'll recover."

"How's Abby?"

Ducky sighed. "Terribly conflicted. It's hard enough having one injured comrade...two...in different hospitals makes it more difficult. She cannot decide where she should be."

"Everywhere and nowhere?"

"Basically. She can't do anything in either place, but she wants to be there for both of them."

"Don't we all? McGee, at least, has his family."

"Does he know?"

"Yeah. He woke up today while Ziva was with him and we had to tell him," Tony said, sighing. "I think _he_ feels guilty."

"That's our Timothy."

"Yeah." Tony looked past Ducky to the affecting scene of Abby sitting beside Gibbs, holding his hand. Abby wasn't the only one pulled in more than one direction. He knew he had to be in charge again, but he wanted to be here...and with Tim...and at NCIS. Unfortunately, there was only one of him...and one of Abby...and one of Ducky...and one of Ziva. And even the one of Tim and Gibbs together barely added up to a whole person at the moment. _Where are _any_ of us supposed to be right now?_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I mean it...Ziva," Tim insisted. "Go. I'm just going to...sleep now."

"Are you trying to make me leave, McGee?" Ziva asked, sounding slightly hurt.

"No, that's not...it. I'm glad you...came. I just...don't want you to sit here...and watch me breathe."

Ziva looked from Tim to the McGees outside the window. She was his only visitor today. After she left, he would only have people through the window. That was still nice, but it wasn't the same as having another flesh-and-blood person with him...someone to distract him from the horror he was living. ...but Gibbs didn't have a family. He, Tim, did. He couldn't go and visit Gibbs, but he could make sure that he had visitors of his own. He didn't think they'd understand. He wasn't sure he could actually explain it in words...but he was determined.

"Are you certain, McGee? I do not want you to be alone."

"I'm never alone...Ziva." He caught a flicker out of the corner of his eye and his gaze shifted to the corner of the room. There was nothing there.

Her hand, encased in a glove, patted his cheek gently. "I miss seeing you, McGee. NCIS has not been the same. First, you left. Now, Gibbs. I have become...accustomed to you all being around."

Tim smiled. "Accustomed?"

"Yes."

"I wish...I was there, too."

"I know."

Tim brought his own weak hand up to cover Ziva's. "Hey...I'm on the upswing...now. I just have...to get better."

Ziva laughed. "I must say that I prefer you being like this to being so depressed as you were before."

"Life's just a...big old party...with me around."

"Are you sure you want me to leave?" Ziva asked, getting serious again.

"Want? No. Think you... should? Yes."

"Very well." But she still looked reluctant.

"Ziva...I won't be alone."

Finally, she nodded and stood. Tim watched her leave the room, discard all the protective gear and then give him a final wave as she walked by the window. He waved back and settled back as if he was going to sleep. He waited for a few minutes, but he knew his family wasn't leaving. When he was certain that Ziva was gone, he opened his eyes again.

"Tim, aren't you tired?" Sarah asked.

"No more than I...always am."

"Then...why did you send Ziva away?"

"I have my reasons."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Over the next couple of days, NCIS people still came to visit and Tim looked forward to talking to them, but he always kept the visits short, acting as though he were going to sleep. Gibbs probably wouldn't appreciate it, but it kept the guilt at bay. Besides, he was getting better. He could feel the difference. Breathing wasn't so difficult. He could sit up without help. He actually wasn't nauseous. These were little things he never thought he'd be appreciating so much.

As he watched Sarah walk out, shedding the protective layers once she was free of the room, Tim knew that the one thing he was really looking forward to, although he hadn't said it aloud, was the chance to actually _touch_ someone again. His only contact with anyone over the last few days of consciousness had been when the other person was gowned and masked beyond recognition. Even when they were there, he still couldn't really touch them. He'd never appreciated that before either...being able to have physical contact with another human being. So much isolation was hard to take.

_Some day,_ he thought, trying to stay positive. _This won't last forever. There's an end...and it could be a _good_ end. I just have to wait for it._ He nodded firmly to himself and leaned back in bed, thinking that another nap sounded good at right about that moment. He smiled and waved to Sarah as she left. He knew that she and his parents would be going to dinner. They'd take the time away to enjoy being out of the hospital. He was looking forward to that as well...being outside. It really was a shame that all this had started right at the time when everything was starting to look beautiful. Even before he'd been diagnosed, he'd been far too tired and sick to go outside and enjoy the blooming flowers and green trees. Tim closed his eyes and let his imagination of how DC might be looking at that moment lull him to sleep.

_I should really ask someone to take me some pictures._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Tim woke an hour later, he saw Dr. Scott just coming in. When he saw his face, he felt the same dread he had felt a lifetime ago when Dr. Ainsley had told him he had cancer. Somehow, he knew what was coming.

"Tim, where's your family?"

"Taking a well-earned break. What is it?"

"What about your friends?"

"Likewise, I'm sure," Tim said. He pushed himself into a sitting position. "What is it, Dr. Scott?"

"I really think you should have someone here for this."

Tim licked his lips nervously. "I think that...we both know what you're going to say. Besides, I've already had my in-person visit for the day."

"I think we could bend the rules this time...besides, you _are_ getting better."

"Please, just say it. You can say it again later."

"Are you sure you want to hear it now?"

"Yes. It will give me time to...accept it...and, and think about it."

Dr. Scott had a pitying look in his eyes...the rest of his face was covered. "I'm so sorry, Tim. We were able to detect leukemic cells in your blood stream. The chemotherapy didn't put you in remission."

For a few seconds, the world seemed to shudder to a stop as Tim tried to process what that meant for him, for his family, his friends...for his _life_.

"Can..." His throat was tight. "...can I say, 'I told you so'?"

"If it helps."

"It doesn't," Tim said, his voice falling to a nearly-inaudible whisper. "It really doesn't."

"Do you want to talk about your options now?"

Tim shook his head wordlessly.

"I really think you should call someone, Tim."

Again, Tim shook his head.

"Are you sure? I can do it for you."

"No. I...I need some...some time...alone." He looked at Dr. Scott and saw nothing but understanding and sympathy there. "Please? I need to be alone...just for a little while."

"All right. Remember: we're always around and you can always call someone when you need them."

Tim nodded. Dr. Scott put a comforting hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim just nodded again and didn't look up as Dr. Scott left the room.

"I can't do this again," Tim whispered to the empty room. He looked toward the corner. There was nothing there. "How can I do all this again?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ziva! I thought you were sitting with Tim today," Abby said. She jumped up and looked fretful. "We weren't supposed to leave him alone!"

"It was not my turn, today, Abby. Ducky is on his way over and I know that McGee's family was with him earlier. Besides, he is more than likely asleep. He always seems to be falling asleep when I have gone."

"Me, too," Abby said. "It's weird because he was never like this before." Then, she _tsk_-ed.

"What?"

"That...that noble..._idiot_!"

Tony turned from his gaze out the window. "What are you talking about, Abbs?"

"Tim's trying to make us all be _here_! He's been _pretending_ so that we come and sit with Gibbs instead of him!"

"Probably because you're all too noisy."

"Gibbs!" Abby shrieked and she flung her arms around him. Then, she released him like a hot potato. "Do you remember me?"

Gibbs winced and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Abby. I didn't get hit in the head."

"No, just in the shoulder, the arm and the lung!" Abby said and hugged him again.

It was a sure sign of how tired Gibbs was still that he didn't try and rally the troops, nor did he get angry when Tony summoned the doctor. It was with a distinct air of relief that Tony called Ducky about twenty minutes later and gave the good news that, with Gibbs awake and responsive, it was only a matter of time before his body recovered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"That is wonderful to hear, Tony. I'll be sure to pass on the news to Timothy. I'm just getting to the hospital now."

"_And tell him that Abby knows what he's been doing."_

"She only figured it out now?"

"_What? You knew?"_

"Of course, I knew, Tony. It was patently obvious."

"_Oh...well, just tell him, okay?"_

"Certainly. Pass along my best wishes."

"_I don't think Gibbs will be too impressed. He's already trying to leave."_

"Then, we know he's feeling like himself." Ducky hung up chuckling. Despite the fact that neither Tim nor Gibbs were well yet, at least Gibbs was on his way, and Tim was getting better. Ducky approached the window, noting the absence of any visitors. He assumed Tim was _sleeping_ again. However, when he looked through the window, a very different view greeted him. Tim was sitting up in bed, hugging himself and sobbing. He slowly rocked back and forth as the tears poured down his cheeks.

"Timothy! What is wrong?"

Tim looked up, through the window, and shook his head.

"Timothy!" Ducky looked around for one of the omnipresent nurses. "Oh, hello there! ...uh...Merrily, is it?"

The nurse stopped and nodded. "What is it, Ducky?"

"Please, could I go in?"

He had expected some sort of resistance as he knew that Sarah had more than likely already been and gone. He was wrong.

"Oh, yes, would you? Timothy has been crying, but he wanted to be alone. He just hasn't formed the kind of attachment to any of us that has with you. He really needs someone right now."

"What is it?"

"I'll let him tell you. He needs that control."

In moments, Ducky was gowned and masked and gloved and admitted to the inner sanctum. Tim was still crying. He looked up and tried to smile.

"Hi, Ducky...how's...how's the weather?"

"Frightfully hot at the moment. I envy you the air conditioning."

Tim nodded and his eyes screwed shut as more tears escaped.

"What's wrong, Timothy?"

"It...it didn't work, Ducky. The chemo didn't work...I still have cancer," Tim sobbed.

"Oh, Timothy. I am so sorry."

Sorry didn't begin to cover how Ducky felt. Tim had already gone through so much. At the moment, he was little more than skin and bones. He'd lost all his hair, a lot of weight. He had only barely begun getting a more positive attitude regarding his situation...and now, he would have to go through it all again...but it would be worse...because it had already failed once. How many more times would it fail? Would the cancer kill him? Or would the treatment do it first?


	13. Chapter 12: Not the End

**Chapter 12: Not the End**

For this one instance, protocol was thrown out the window. Everyone crammed into the isolation room. They were all gowned and masked, but they were all actually _in_ the room: the McGees, Ducky, Abby, Ziva, Tony, Dr. Scott and the nurse, Merrily. It wasn't so much shock at hearing the news as horror. They had all known that this was a possibility...a likely possibility, but it was so hard to realize what that meant...for Tim.

Dr. Scott looked at them all, but most especially at Tim who was still reeling from the realization that this wasn't over. Naomi was hugging him tightly as if she would never let him go.

"I know this is terrible news for you all. It's the last thing you wanted to hear. However, it's important that you realize this is not the end. Far from it. There still are options."

"...but none of them are pleasant, are they?" Tim asked. He was calm again, but there was a kind of weary resignation that could easily spill over into the depression that had dogged the first days of his treatment.

"No. I won't lie to you, Tim. They're not pleasant, but they _are_ options. You are not condemned to death because one course of chemotherapy didn't work."

"So what are they?" Tony asked.

"First, there's another round of chemotherapy." Dr. Scott saw the winces. He continued, "Then, we could try a clinical trial. Many of them have good possibilities...but again, that's pretty much chemotherapy, just more experimental, possibly less physically-traumatizing. The final option is a transplant."

"Why wasn't that first?" Abby asked. "Why can't you just do that?"

Dr. Scott sighed. "We talked about this before, but I think you all still have the Hollywood vision of what a transplant entails. You see a transplant as being some sort of panacea for cancer, that the only real difficulty is in finding a donor and after that, it's smooth sailing. But it's not even close to being that way."

"Then, what _is_ it like?" Ziva asked.

"I'm going to present a hypothetical situation here. Let's say that we were able to find a suitable donor for Tim. That _is_ difficult, but we'll pass over that for now. We have a donor. We have a suitable match. Here's the way it would go. First, another round of chemotherapy."

"But...you said..." Sarah began.

"This is an intensive course, meaning that it will be worse. The reason is that we are not only killing off the leukemia; we're also _intentionally_ shutting down his immune system. With normal chemotherapy, the immosuppressive nature of the drugs is simply inherent. We can't prevent it. In this case, the dosage will be higher with the goal of completely depressing Tim's bone marrow. The higher dosage will mean more and more intense side effects. There is danger of organ failure, of damage to the blood vessels, to the liver. Tim could become mentally confused as his body weakens. With his reaction to the drugs last time, I don't think we can kid ourselves that the side effects would be any less intense. This could also be combined with radiation therapy as well...with a whole host of _other_ side effects to deal with. That's another six or seven days worth of chemotherapy. After that, we do the transplant and infuse the donated marrow or stem cells into Tim's body. That is not surgical, but it does take a while. During that time, we have to watch for any adverse reactions and treat them as they come up. Assuming that he survives both the chemotherapy _and_ the transplant, we're still not done."

Dr. Scott looked around. Even though their faces were hidden, he could see their eyes...their _frightened_ eyes. It was hard to do this, but they really needed to know what they were asking for.

"Two or three days after the transplant, Tim will start feeling the full effects of the chemotherapy, all of them. Plus, all the possible problems arising from the stem cell grafts. For the next two to five weeks, we'll have to watch him carefully. He could suffer from any number of problems ranging from rashes to ulcers to another bout of pneumonia. We'll be preemptively treating him with antibiotics in an effort to prevent infections, but we'll have to watch for that as well. He'll be isolated again. We'll be watching and hoping that the marrow graft works. His body could reject it as something alien to be destroyed, which is why we depress his immune system. However, there's another problem and I mentioned it before."

"Graft versus host disease?" Ziva asked.

"Yes, exactly. The grafted marrow, because it comes from another person, could look on Tim's body as something 'other' needing to be attacked. Most transplant recipients suffer from some level of GVHD whether acute or chronic. There are different degrees of the disease, however, and suffering from GVHD doesn't necessarily mean death. Again, the severity could range from skin rashes all the way up to complete organ failure, which _is_ usually fatal. If the GVHD is acute that will happen in the first three months after the transplant. If chronic, then after three months. There is treatment for it and the only thing we need to do is make sure it is diagnosed as quickly as possible. However, the treatment itself is hard on an already-weakened body and we have to be careful not to weaken it more than is necessary."

"And then?" Tony asked.

"Then, assuming that all goes well, three to five weeks after the transplant, Tim will go home. He'll be weak, unable to do much. He won't be able to go into large crowds and anytime he goes outside, he should wear a mask because his immune system will still be recovering...as will he. He'll slowly start to get his strength back, but normal blood counts are still a long way in the future. Often it takes between six and twelve months to fully recover from a transplant."

"A year? What does that mean...what would I be doing?" Tim asked.

"Probably you'd start feeling well enough to live your life again. You can go back to work, with a reduced work load at first and gradually working your way up to full-participation. The central line stays where it is for several months. You'll be taught how to clean it and watch for signs of infection. You'll have several hospital visits per week, especially during the first months. If you reach the one-year mark in good health, then you've passed the first hurdle."

"Only the first?"

"Yes, because a transplant isn't necessarily a cure. We hope it is...and it _can_ be, but you're still at risk for the cancer coming back. You'll have yearly visits and checkups probably for the rest of your life. You may be completely cured, but we just don't know."

"I...thought that..." Tony said and then trailed off.

"...that there was a transfer of healthy marrow and that's it?" Dr. Scott asked. He smiled sympathetically behind his mask. "I only wish it were that easy, but it's not. A transplant is never the first choice. It's the last choice. The first choice is for the patient, Tim, to be able to heal himself without the need for another person's immune system to do it for him."

"So?" Tim said, softly.

"So, what?"

"So...what do you recommend?"

"That we try for a transplant."

"...but you just said..." Sarah protested.

"I gave you the facts, Sarah. I gave you the bald facts. Here are some more: Tim, your cancer is extremely aggressive. An autologous transfusion probably wouldn't work. If you just had the regular chemotherapy, it would more than likely take at least two additional courses, if not more to achieve remission...and quite frankly, I don't think you could survive it. The clinical trials could help, but in your case, the best chance, not only for survival, but for a _cure_ is an allogeneic transplant. If we can find a suitable match, of course. If not, we would have to decide whether to try an autologous transplant or risk more chemotherapy."

"So...essentially, any choice that I make...could end up killing me."

"Yes, but making no choice at all will _definitely_ kill you."

"Is it worth it?" Tim asked. He looked at Dr. Scott, pleading in his eyes. "Is going through all this...again...is it worth it?"

"Yes," Dr. Scott said instantly. "It might not work. That's a possibility we all have to accept, but it's worth the risk. I've seen it time and again with my patients. I've seen the failures, but I've also seen the successes. It's worth it."

"Okay," Tim said, nodding, shaking loose a few stray tears. "Then..." He looked around at his family and friends and tried to smile. "...then, what do we do first?"


	14. Chapter 13: The Search

**Chapter 13: The Search**

Dr. Scott smiled at Tim's attempt to bring things down to a manageable level. It gave him more hope than he'd had before that Tim could tolerate another bout with the effects of cancer. Sometimes, he had to wonder why it was that doctors had to nearly kill their patients in order to save them. In no other field of medicine was this dichotomy so obvious as in oncology...and Dr. Scott had never felt it so acutely as he did in this moment, looking at Tim, _knowing_ how much more he had to deal with still. However, the practiced detachment that all doctors had to learn in order to survive helped him refocus.

"The first step is to find a viable donor. The HLA have to be typed...that's human leukocyte antigens. It's very rare to find an unrelated donor who is an exact match with the major _and _minor antigens. However, matching only the six major antigens is much more doable and we're lucky in this case because Tim's tissue type is relatively common..."

"Wow, we're _lucky_?" Naomi asked, incredulously. "Has that happened in any other aspect of this mess?"

Dr. Scott nodded. "I would say it has. Look at all the people here. Tim is _very_ lucky to have you all."

Everyone looked at each other and then looked away.

"...as I was saying, Tim's tissue type is fairly common for his ethnicity. That's one of the factors we look at when finding an unrelated donor. We'll search through those in his ethnic group first before expanding outside of that. However...first, we'd like to test all of you, if you're willing."

"Us?" Abby asked. "What are the odds of one of _us_ having the same tissue type as Tim?"

"Pretty low, but it _has _happened and it's as good a place to start as any. Better actually because you're all already here and accessible. Are you willing?"

"Of course," Abby said instantly. The others followed suit quickly.

"I thought you wouldn't have a problem with it," Dr. Scott said, smiling. "We might as well do that now. We can't get started on the transplantation process for awhile yet in any case."

"Why not?" Tim asked.

"Because you're still recovering from pneumonia. We'll wait a couple of weeks. You have the time," he said, comfortingly. "While the cancer wasn't eliminated, it is definitely in lower numbers than it was before. We've simply turned back the clock a little bit."

"Yeah," Tim said softly. "Just a little."

"You'll start feeling more like yourself soon enough."

"But that's about when the next round will start, correct?"

"If all goes according to plan, yes, I'm sorry."

"Well..." Tim sighed. "...that's what I signed up for...so, let's go."

"All right," Dr. Scott said, nodding. "If you'd all come with me?"

Tim watched the NCIS people clear out and wished he was going with them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How does this testing work? A blood test?" Tony asked as they walked down the hall.

"No. Actually, it's even more simple. We just take a cheek swab and test your DNA."

"Really?"

"Yes, it is quite a bit like what I believe you do in your investigations."

"Fascinating," Ziva said. "How long will the testing take?"

"Not long. A couple of days. Now, I don't want you to get worked up if none of you are matches. As I said, it's not especially likely for a match to be found so close to home, but it _is_ possible."

"I'd like to call Mr. Palmer as well. He has been covering for me quite often and I know he would like to be able to help."

"Certainly. The more the merrier," Dr. Scott said. "There are so many possible combinations of the antigens that some people never find a suitable match. The larger the pool, the greater the likelihood of us finding someone who is a viable donor."

Ducky looked at the others and they all grinned. "Well..." Ducky began, "...if that is truly the case, I think I know where the pool can start."

"Where's that, Ducky?"

Ducky grinned. "Would it be possible to test the people at NCIS?"

"What? _All_ of them?"

"Well, I'm certain that there are criteria donors must meet before donating, but I think I can say without hesitation that they would all wish to help. Is it possible?"

Dr. Scott grinned in return. "Yes, Ducky. I do believe that is a distinct possibility."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky was right. It took nearly two days just to deal with everyone at NCIS who wanted to be a part of the search for a viable donor. Some of them were already registered...and were quickly eliminated. Others, unfortunately including Tony, for his plague encounter, and Ducky, for his age, were eliminated during the medical background check. It was hard, even with Dr. Scott's warning beforehand, to be excluded because of something _other_ than an unmatched tissue type. At the end of two days, the tissue samples had been collected and sent for analysis.

Because he had been eliminated quickly, Tony had moped around for a few hours and then grabbed a camera. He began to take pictures of people waiting to be tested, some in groups, others going over medical histories. Some of them were looking at the brochures in the waiting room. Many of them were virtual strangers...they were there not specifically as friends but as comrades in arms. They all were on the same team, and when one member faltered, it was up to the rest to help where they could. Tony even risked his life by sneaking into Gibbs' hospital room to take a picture of him getting a tissue sample taken.

It was Abby's idea to take pictures of other things...like NCIS itself. She talked Ziva into taking a camera to a crime scene and documenting people working. Life had to go on...even in the midst of cancer. Tony was a little worried that showing life going on without him would make Tim feel worse, but Abby insisted that he would love it. All that next night, Abby began to create a collage of the images. When she was finally satisfied, she printed it off, large-scale, and then printed off some of the individual photos. She did hope that Tim would like it...and not be hurt by it. She had scrounged around and found some old pictures of Tim and photoshopped them into the collage. This wasn't about Tim missing everything, but about everyone missing him and helping him get back. That's what she wanted to show.

Tim would get it. ...wouldn't he?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Where's Tim?" Abby asked in surprise two days later. The isolation room was empty. She hadn't been able to get there. Actually, none of them had because of the new case that had started to take over their lives.

"Oh, they've moved him back to a regular room. This one is still more or less isolated, but it has a window and you don't have to get all decked out now that his immune system is rebounding," Merrily said.

"No masks?" Abby asked hopefully.

She shook her head. "Sorry. You had better get used to that look. It's going to be fairly common. There might be a brief respite before we start the transplant process, but other than that..."

"Yeah, I get it," Abby said, sighing. "They sure are uncomfortable. Don't _you_ get tired of wearing them?"

"You get used to it...after a few years."

"Right. Where's his room now?"

Merrily pointed it out and Abby ran down the hall, her presents in her arms. She stopped outside Tim's room, scrubbed her hands with the gel, grabbed a mask, scrubbed her hands again and then knocked eagerly.

"Come in."

Abby opened the door and peeked inside. Tim was in bed...of course, but he was staring out the window in absolute awe. He was almost squinting, but he wasn't looking away.

"What are you looking at, Tim?" Abby asked.

"I feel like it's been _years_ since I saw the outdoors," Tim whispered. He looked back from the window and blinked a few times to readjust his eyes. "What is it?"

"I have something for you," Abby said. "Actually, we all helped out with it, but I put it all together. I would have brought it sooner, but we had a big old case that took over and this is the first chance I had to come and I was so surprised that you were out of isolation. I'm glad, but I didn't expect it and..."

Tim was grinning. He didn't try to interrupt. He just smiled. Even though it was completely genuine, the sight of Tim, skin and bones that he was, smiling was almost painful, and Abby stopped her ramble.

"What is it, Abby?" Tim asked.

"Well, Tony said that you might not like it...but I really hope you do. Now, I'm all nervous that you won't and it'll just make you depressed."

"Abby, let me see," Tim said.

"Okay. Big thing first. Then, the smaller ones."

"There's more than one thing?"

"Of course!"

"Of course," Tim echoed softly.

Abby turned back toward the door and unrolled the large collage. Then, she turned back around. "Ta-da!"

Tim stared at it without speaking. When the first tear rolled down his cheek, Abby dropped the collage on the floor. "Oh, you _do_ hate it!"

Tim laughed. "No...that's not it, Abby. I don't hate it."

"Then, why are you crying, Tim?"

"I...I love it...really." Tim sat up. "Could I look at it again?"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Hesitantly, Abby held up the collage again.

"What is everyone doing?" Tim asked.

"Where?"

"Everywhere. They look like they're in the hospital."

Abby grinned and put down the collage. "That's the second part." She drew out a pile of pictures. "I'll make a cool old slide show, but I wanted you to see them faster than that."

"That's Lara...and Director Shephard...and Alan and Jimmy and..." Tim looked up. "They all look like they're..._here_."

Abby nodded and grinned. "Yeah. We decided to ask if anyone else at NCIS wanted to be tested."

Tim flipped through the photos. "This looks like...like everyone who works there."

"I think it is."

More tears, but a big smile. "They all wanted to...to help?"

"Yeah, Tim. We had to set up a queue just to process them all."

"Wow," Tim said through the tears. "...just...wow. How can I thank them for that?"

"Get better, Tim."

"That's a tall order."

"I know, but I think you're up to it."

"I hope so." Tim flipped through a few more photos. "Wait, is this...it's Gibbs."

"Do you really think Gibbs would allow a few bullet wounds to keep him from being a part of it?"

Tim wiped away the tears. "Wow."

"That's not particularly eloquent, Tim."

With a weak arm, Tim reached out and pulled Abby close. He put his arms around her. "Everyone is being so...so great. I just...and I'm just sitting here."

Abby wrapped her much stronger arms around Tim and whispered, "It's not what you're doing, but who you are. That's why we're here, Tim."

"Thanks. Even if there's no match. Even if...even if this doesn't work out...I feel like...like it's not a waste of time."

"It will work out."

"It could not."

Abby let him go and stood back, her hands on her hips. "No, it _will_. I, Abigail Sciuto, forensic scientist, have decreed it."

Tim laughed. "Well, if you have pull with my cancer cells, you can let them know."

Abby picked up one of Tim's arms began speaking to it. "Hey, you hear me in there? This is Abby, and I'm telling you to get lost!"

"Well, that's a unique treatment. Can't say I've ever tried it," Dr. Scott said as he walked in the door.

Abby dropped Tim's arm and straightened quickly. "I was just..."

"No need to explain."

"What's going on? I've already had my cell counts for the day," Tim said. "Is something wrong?"

Dr. Scott shook his head and Tim could tell he was smiling. "No, for the first time, something is going right."

"What?"

"Against the odds, we found a match among your coworkers."

"A match?" Tim asked. He leaned forward. "A...A real match...to me?"

"Yes, Tim. Six out of six antigens."

"Who is it?"


	15. Chapter 14: Donors and Preparations

**Chapter 14: Donors and Preparations**

"Wow...really?" Jimmy looked around at everyone else in the room...all of them wearing masks...all of them as stunned as he was.

"Way to go, Palmer!" Tony said, holding out his hand for a high five. Jimmy stared at him for a moment and then sheepishly mirrored him.

"I didn't really do anything, Tony."

"Then...way to go Palmer's parents..." Tony stopped. "Okay, that sounds really wrong. Scratch that."

"Yes, please do," Jimmy agreed. He swallowed. Everyone was still staring at him. He was certain they must be happy, but he couldn't see their faces.

Tim was the only one whose face he could see and he looked as shocked as everyone else. He was flicking his gaze back and forth from Dr. Scott to Jimmy as if waiting for someone to say that the joke was over. Then, Jimmy was suddenly buried beneath a storm of hugs from Sarah (around his waist) and Naomi (around his neck). His hands were also being shaken firmly by Sam. He managed to free one hand to fix his glasses and saw Tim's face. He wasn't sure which of them felt more embarrassed by the McGees' actions at that moment. He tried to smile and he saw Tim blush and cover his eyes with a hand.

"Mom, if you choke him, he won't be able to donate, and Sarah, I think you should give him a chance to breathe, too. You guys are going to scare Jimmy away."

"It's..." Jimmy began as they all slowly released him. "It's okay, McGee."

"I'm so glad you're here," Naomi said.

"This is really happening? I'm not just imagining it?" Sarah asked, breathlessly.

"Yes, it's really happening, but we're not home free, you know."

"You know, Dr.Scott," Tim said, grinning, "sometimes I think you _like_ saying that it's not going to be easy."

"Yeah, you could just let us pretend everything is fine for a minute," Abby said, her arms akimbo.

"If you like..."

Tim shook his head, but he was still smiling. "No, I know. We all know what's coming."

"Good. Our task for the next couple of weeks is getting you as healthy as possible, Tim. Then, when you're stable again, we'll begin the prep for the transplant." He shifted his gaze to Jimmy. "Obviously, we want _you_ to be healthy as well. You mentioned that you have diabetes?"

Jimmy nodded.

"That won't be a problem as long as you don't put yourself into insulin shock."

"I won't."

"I didn't think you would. There _is _one more thing you should all know now."

"I knew it. He's a closet sadist," Tony said.

Dr. Scott smiled. "We have to run quite a few blood samples and a very thorough physical, and there _is _a possibility that something could come up that would prevent Jimmy from being the donor. I don't anticipate any of that seeing as he has had a physical recently without any problems, but we do test for other diseases that are not part of a regular physical examination. We'll get the physical and the blood tests out of the way as quickly as possible, and then, I'll let you celebrate a little bit."

Tim smiled.

"Jimmy, I'm so jealous," Abby said.

Jimmy looked at her. "Why?"

"Because, think about it. There's going to be a little bit of you inside Tim forever."

"Um...yuck?" Tony said.

"You're right, Tony. That sounded a lot neater in my head."

Tim looked at Jimmy. "You want to change your mind, Jimmy?"

"No, I'm okay. How about you?"

"Slightly distubed now, but okay."

Everyone laughed and then, somehow, everyone was gone except for Jimmy. He and Tim stared at each other for a long moment. They were friends, but not close friends. They didn't talk much and they just had never really done a lot together. Now, they were both a little awkward.

"You don't have to do this, Jimmy," Tim said.

"Yeah, I do, McGee," Jimmy said.

"No, you don't."

"Can you imagine what Abby would do to me if I backed out?"

Tim laughed. "Okay, yeah, you do. Thanks, though. That doesn't seem like enough to say, but..."

"It's enough, McGee," Jimmy said.

"No, it's not. It can't be enough. I wake up every morning knowing that I could possibly die. You're making it so that I don't have to think that way anymore. I don't know how to thank you for my life."

"You can return the favor if it comes to it."

"I'll remember that."

Jimmy started to leave.

"Wait. Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to tell you something."

"What?" Jimmy turned back around.

"I want to say I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For something that happened over three years ago."

"What?"

"When I walked in on you and Abby in Autopsy and you'd accidentally become superglued together. I meant to go down and apologize for being so...mean, but I just never got around to it."

Jimmy was smiling. "Why now?"

"Because...there may not be another chance."

Jimmy's smile slipped away. "Hey, McGee, I had forgotten about that until you mentioned it just now."

"I know. I figured you had. I had almost forgotten it, but...I should have apologized before. All this time I lay in here, I have so much time to think. ...and even though I shouldn't, I end up thinking about dying a lot." Tim shrugged a little sheepishly and Jimmy sat down. "It's way too real for me now. I have to make up my mind every day that I'm not going to worry about whether or not it's my last day. When Dr. Scott told me that you were the donor, that was the first thing I thought of. I never apologized and now you're saving my life." Tim laughed but his eyes filled with tears as he looked at the collage Abby had hung up on the wall. He could see Jimmy waiting now. He knew where it was on the image.

"I would have been willing if it had happened on that day, you know," Jimmy said quietly.

"I know. I never doubted it. I keep thinking back to how dumb it was. Abby told me that I had scared you, and I was...I was _flattered_! Can you believe that? I was excited that I had managed to scare someone."

"You certainly did scare me that day."

"I'm not an intimidating person usually. It takes a lot to make me lose my temper like that...and I just reacted instead of thinking first that day. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for doing that...even three years later."

"Well, I accept your apology, McGee," Jimmy said smiling. "You know, most of the people I work with every day are dead. I can't do anything for them but try to help them tell their story...like Dr. Mallard does. If I can help you..._not_ need my help like that, then I'm more than happy to do it."

"Thanks, Jimmy."

"You're welcome."

Tim held out his hand, weak, skeletally thin. Jimmy clasped it firmly.

"You're going to make it, McGee."

Tim sighed and smiled. "I hope you're right. Otherwise, I've lost a lot time I could have spent saying good-bye."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Over the next two weeks, Tim continued to improve. He was sitting up for longer times. He still was skin and bones, but he'd even begun eating again. A lot of the things he had enjoyed before tasted different to him and so his family began experimenting with different things, seeing what still tasted good, what he might prefer. He couldn't eat much, and they still used an IV to supplement his food intake, but he was eating. The central line stayed in of course, but Tim was overjoyed that the catheter was removed...even if he knew it would have to return eventually.

There were no anomalous results from Jimmy's physical or his blood tests and everyone heaved another sigh of relief. Dr. Scott continued to monitor Tim's cell counts. His blood and platelet counts were almost up to within normal levels...but his leukemic cells were also increasing in volume. It was a dangerous game they were playing. Tim needed to be stronger, but the cancer would get stronger as well.

Tim stopped asking about the counts, but Dr. Scott knew he was aware of the danger as well, probably more than anyone else besides himself. He wished that he could comfort Tim and tell him that there was nothing to worry about, but they both knew it was a lie. That was probably why he agreed to let Tim go outside when, two weeks after they had matched Tim's and Jimmy's tissue, he asked to get out of the hospital, even if only for an hour. It was now the height of summer. It was hot, and there had been smog warnings...but Tim was so earnest, that finally, Dr. Scott agreed. Sarah was there and she agreed to push him around. She smiled when she said it, and Tim agreeably got into the wheelchair. He didn't even complain about wearing the mask. Sarah took hers off...and then the siblings left the hospital and Sarah pushed Tim in his wheelchair around the green space outside the Cancer Institute.

For a long time, Tim didn't even speak, he was so happy to be outside again. The weather was so different from when he had gone into the hospital. Now, it was almost uncomfortably hot...but he didn't care. He just inhaled through the mask over his face and smiled. After a while, Sarah pushed him over to a bench under a tree. Then, she sat down and panted.

"Tim, you're heavy!"

"You just need to work out more."

Sarah slugged him...gently. "You feel like you could get up?"

"Sure."

"Why don't you sit on the bench with me, then?"

Tim nodded and levered himself upright. He _could_ stand and walk, but it was harder than he wanted to admit. He only got up to go to the bathroom, usually. Sarah stood and helped him. Then, they settled on the bench. Sarah wrapped her arms around his waist and winced inwardly at how frail he felt.

"Thanks for bringing me out here, Sarah."

"Anytime, Tim."

"Are you ready for the new semester. It'll be starting soon, won't it?"

"I still have a few weeks."

"What are you taking?"

Sarah sniffed a little and Tim pulled away from her.

"You _are_ planning on taking classes, aren't you?"

"Tim! You have _cancer_!"

"Yeah, Sarah. I have cancer. _I_ do. Not you. Please, don't put your life on hold for me. Please, don't do that."

"Tim, how can I go to school? How can I pretend that life is normal when you...you look like _this_, when you could die?"

"I could die. I'm not going to willingly, and if it comes to that, you're certainly welcome to miss class for me...but Sarah, you have to keep going. You can't just stop because of a little snag."

"Little snag? Have you _looked_ at yourself recently, Tim?"

"Yes, I have, Sarah. Every morning. I'm bald. I've lost about forty pounds in the last month...and I've gained back ten. I can't walk very well. I still get tired too easily." Tim grabbed her by the shoulders. "Sarah, _I_ have put my life on hold. I can't do anything about that. If I could keep working, I would. I would in a heartbeat...but I can't. I can't do my job. I can't even leave the hospital without a mask over my face. _I_ can't, but _you_ can. I think of this cancer as some sort of invading army, or terrorist attack. We can't allow terrorism to dictate our actions." He laughed a little. "I did. For a while, I did. I couldn't see past being sick. That's wrong. It's wrong to think that way. It's wrong to _act_ that way, and I won't let you, Sarah."

"What if I'm sitting in 19th-century British poetry or something like that and you die?"

"Then, you can quote poetry over my grave," Tim said.

Sarah smacked him again...a little harder.

"I'm serious. If I die, Sarah, I'm going to die whether or not you're there. You might as well be learning about poetry as well as standing by my bed. If I die...it won't be sudden. There will be time to say good-bye."

"Maybe there won't be," Sarah said, starting to cry.

"Sarah, I don't want to die," Tim said, getting teary himself. "I'm not going to give in easily...but you have to realize what I'm up against here. It's hard enough knowing that Mom and Dad are giving up everything just to be here. You can still live a part of your life..._and_ you can be here. Don't give up the future for this. Please."

Sarah put her arms around him again and began to sob. "Tim, I don't want you to die!"

"Neither do I. Neither do I." Tim held her weakly and looked around at the trees, the green grass, the flowers. He smiled and waited for Sarah to calm down.

"I'm sorry, Tim. You're the one who's sick," she said finally.

"You're the one who has to watch," Tim said and mentally made a decision. He didn't think Sarah could hear it; so he didn't tell her. She wouldn't understand. He looked across the grass and saw a familiar person walking toward the entrance.

"Boss!" he shouted.

Gibbs looked around and his surprise showed on his face when he realized who was sitting outside. He walked over to them.

"What are you doing outside, McGee?"

"Running away. I ran out of energy right here," Tim said, grinning, even though Gibbs couldn't see it. "How are you doing, Boss?"

"Better than you," he said.

"That's not too hard."

"Nope."

Sarah stood. "I have to go and meet Mom and Dad."

Tim looked at her sternly.

"You're right, Tim." She mock-glared at him. "I hate it when you're right."

"That's what big brothers are for."

"Love you."

"I love you, too."

Sarah walked away, but she looked back a few times. Gibbs took her vacated spot...although not so close.

"How are _you_ doing, McGee?"

Tim shrugged. "I still have cancer. I'm still bald. I still can't work. ...but I'm alive. There's a chance to get rid of the cancer for good. I'm outside for the first time in who knows how long. There are a lot of little things I'm glad of."

"I'm glad. Last time _I_ saw you, you were still pretty much depressed."

"Yeah, it's been a while. Thank you for being there, Boss. That night..." Tim stared straight ahead, not sure how Gibbs would take it. "...I was so afraid. I was terrified and then, there you were. The nurse would have come eventually, but I was so scared that I was dying." He laughed. "Then, I _was_ dying, but..."

"But what?"

"Nothing."

"What, McGee?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"It's one of the smoggiest days of the year so far and you're sitting outside. I already think you're crazy," Gibbs said, but he smiled.

"I knew I wasn't alone...and I knew..." Tim swallowed. He'd never told anyone, and he wasn't sure why he was doing so now...maybe a desire to let people know the things that mattered in case the worst happened. "...I knew I wouldn't be alone even if I died."

"What do you mean, McGee?"

"When I had my...my car accident when I was sixteen, there was moment when I saw...I saw my...my grandfather. He died when I was ten, but I saw him, watching me. He was smiling. Then, when I was dying of pneumonia, I saw...Kate, sitting in the corner of the isolation room. She looked like she was waiting. I thought," Tim swallowed back a few tears, "that it was nice to know that I wouldn't be alone here or there."

Gibbs didn't say anything.

"I know it sounds crazy. I was nearly delirious, and it's possible that I just imagined it, but it's comforting...to me."

Gibbs leaned forward and rubbed his shoulder. "I understand, McGee."

"Thanks, Boss." Tim looked at Gibbs. He wondered if he should ask him. Would he understand? Would _anyone_? "Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

"Do you think you could...bring me a laptop, from work maybe? I just need to borrow one."

"Why?"

Tim looked at the wheelchair. He levered himself upright and staggered over to it. Then, he sat back down.

"Why, McGee?"

Tim looked at Gibbs. "Because, Boss, if things don't go according to plan...I could still die. After talking with Sarah, I decided that I needed to give people some closure if that happens."

"How?"

"By saying good-bye."

"Before you die?"

Tim shook his head. "It's not like that, Boss. It's not. It's not about me preparing for imminent death. This is about...everyone has to some degree sacrificed a lot for me. If things go badly, I don't want them to think that they've done anything wrong, or that they could have done more. I want them to know that I couldn't ask for more than they've done for me. If I make it through, I'll delete them and never let anyone see, but if I don't...at least, they'll have _something_."

"Okay, McGee. I can do that," Gibbs said quietly. "Do you want a push back inside?"

"Not particularly, but my hour's up."

Gibbs smiled and didn't answer. He took the handlebars and began pushing Tim back into the Cancer Institute. Part of him wanted to tell Tim to stop being so morbid, but even he had to admit that this was a different attitude from what Tim had been expressing before. Tim was just being prepared this time...

...but it still hurt that he had to be prepared for death.


	16. Chapter 15: One Last Hurrah

**Chapter 15: One Last Hurrah**

_Two weeks later..._

Tim sighed and looked out the window, trying to enjoy the moonlight. It was a full moon that night. A bank of low-lying clouds grazed the bottom of the moon. The scene was picturesque to say the least...the very least. Tim sighed again and tried not to feel depressed. His health had peaked a few days before. Everyone knew it, even without the verification of the cell counts he still had every day. Just that morning, Dr. Scott had said what they had all been hoping and fearing: tomorrow was the day. Jimmy was scheduled for the operation to harvest his marrow and Tim was to begin his chemotherapy the day after. He knew it was necessary, that the week of treatment was needed to be sure that his body didn't reject Jimmy's stem cells...

"But that doesn't make it any easier," he said to his reflection in the window. There was a bit of peach fuzz on his head from where his hair was tentatively coming back in. He wished he could have told it not to bother. It would be gone again in days. He knew that, and he knew that in a few days he'd be so sick that the loss of that skiff of hair wouldn't matter.

Absently, his hand rubbed the skin around the central line. He barely noticed its presence anymore. It was good thing because he'd have it for months more, even if everything went exactly right...which it more than likely wouldn't. Tim looked out the window again. It was August now. Sarah would be starting school soon. She had even printed off her schedule and shown it to him, taking particular pains to show him the British poetry class she was taking and the times...so that he made sure not to die then. He had laughed.

Even now, he smiled to himself. His smile, however, was more than a little sad. There was so much that he wished he could do. There were so many things he'd never been able to do. It wasn't that he had lost hope, but he knew the statistics...it was just hard to pretend that he was happy all the time. He tried. Sometimes when he pretended, when he forced the smile, he actually felt a little better. Not today. Scheduling Jimmy's surgery had pretty much cemented his dread of beginning another round, worse this time, of chemotherapy.

The chemo was only the beginning, of course. This time...there was the added worry about his body rejecting the transplant or vice versa. Then, there was the general wearing down of his body that occurred anyway. Then, there was the very long recovery time during which any number of things could happen. Then, there was the possibility of heart problems even years down the road from the chemo drugs. Then...then...then... Sometimes, all the information just piled up inside his head so much that he thought he'd explode. How in the world did people survive the knowing? ...let alone the actual disease.

The moon, the clouds, even his reflection were forgotten as Tim let the dire possibilities take momentary control. His hand rubbed the skin around the line again...then, it moved up and touched his bald head. Sometimes...it was just easier to cry.

Tim's head dropped, leaning against the wall, and his hand went to the window...the glass that separated him from the world, from everything that made life worth living and he began to cry.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Approaching target, now."

"We're at the doors."

"Jimmy, this isn't a life-or-death situation," Abby said over the phone. "You can just go in and get him."

Jimmy blushed. "I kind of miss being Black Lung."

Ducky clapped him on the shoulder. "If it helps you move any faster, dear boy, I will be sure address you that way."

Jimmy chuckled. "It would have been much cooler if we had just whisked him away, rather than asking his doctor first."

"Cooler?" Ducky asked. "This is not about being _cool_."

"Yeah, it is," Jimmy disagreed. "Why else are we doing this in the middle of the night, Doctor?"

Ducky began to argue and then stopped. "Well, I do believe you are correct...Black Lung."

Jimmy grinned and paused at the door to Tim's room to put on a mask and sanitize his hands. Ducky started to do the same and then looked around.

"Oh dear. I forgot his clothes. Why don't you go on in, Mr. Palmer? I'll just go back to the car and grab them."

"I can do it."

"No, you go on in. I could use the physical exertion, and you are already masked."

Jimmy grinned as Ducky left. He turned and knocked on the door.

"Come in." The voice sounded somewhat less-than-enthused and Jimmy hesitated before opening the door.

"Hey, McGee," he said carefully.

"Jimmy, what are you doing here? I thought you weren't checking in until tomorrow," Tim said. His voice was not only unenthused, it was also shaky...as if Jimmy had interrupted a bout of tears.

"No, I am. This is something else. Anything wrong?"

"Not particularly," Tim said, smiling shakily. He took a deep breath and turned away from the window. "What is it?"

"Well, we're here to break you out."

"We?"

Jimmy looked over his shoulder. "Dr. Mallard should be here any minute."

"Okay..." Tim looked confused, but he was smiling more happily. "What about the second part?"

"That's self-explanatory, isn't it? Although we _did_ clear it with your doctor first."

Tim chuckled. "Not much of a breakout, then, huh?"

"It's enough, I believe, Timothy," Ducky said as he came inside. "However, we did have to break into your apartment first."

"Why?"

"You can hardly leave the hospital in nothing but a hospital gown and sweatpants."

Tim looked down at himself. It had become so normal for him that he didn't even think about it anymore. The sweatpants were actually a relatively recent addition...only when he started getting out of bed again.

"It might become fashionable someday, but I do not believe that even _haute couture_ would delve into the hospital gown line," Ducky commented.

Tim laughed. "I think most of my clothes would fall off me at this point, Ducky."

"True, but we did get a belt and I believe baggy t-shirts are considered fashionable."

"Maybe if you're thirteen, Ducky," Tim said, but he held out his hands for the bag and then went into the bathroom to change.

"I think he was crying, Doctor," Jimmy said softly after the door closed.

"Then, this night is more needed than ever, Mr. Palmer."

When Tim came out a few minutes later, he really did look as though he was a teenager wearing clothes three sizes too big for him...but he was smiling. He put up only a minimal protest when they put him in the wheelchair, and he cracked jokes about his ill-fitting attire all the way out to the car.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What are we doing _here_?" Tim asked, but his surprise was a pleasant one.

"I believe the powers that be decided you would appreciate a visit to your place of employment," Ducky answered.

Tim smiled widely, not that anyone could see it. He was still wearing a mask, just as a precaution. ...and he nearly started crying again. He hadn't seen NCIS in weeks, and he was actually amazed at how much he missed it. He got out of the car, feeling a rush of energy such as he hadn't felt in weeks. As he walked toward the entrance, his pace was almost his old stride...not quite, but almost.

"Slow down, Timothy!"

Tim stopped and looked back. "Ducky, I haven't been here in so long!"

"Yes, well, remember that if you use up all your energy now, you won't have any to enjoy yourself inside."

Tim sighed. "You're right. Just for a minute...I felt..." he stopped. "...how many people are in there?"

"Not everyone at NCIS if that is what worries you. It is just your close associates and friends. Your family said they would keep this a work-related party and that they will see you tomorrow."

"Why now?" Tim asked.

Ducky pushed the button for the elevator. "Because it is now that you need it."

"Besides, I'll be laid up for a few days after my surgery, and I didn't want to miss it," Jimmy said smiling.

"I wouldn't want you to either, Jimmy."

When Tim stepped off the elevator, there was a big banner and a stereotypical bunch of balloons and confetti. Tim loved it all. It wasn't a huge party. It wasn't particularly raucous (It couldn't help but be a little bit with Tony there). It was just an evening spent with friends. They talked, laughed, joked...tried to forget that Tim was still fighting for his life.

As they all knew would happen, Tim ran out of energy long before he wanted to leave. He had taken to sitting about an hour in and by the time the party had been going for nearly three hours, he was dozing at his desk.

"Tim?"

"Hmmm?" Tim mumbled. He wasn't quite asleep, nor quite awake. He could hear the noise around him, but he wasn't taking part.

"Are you ready to go?"

"No," he said without opening his eyes.

"It's time to go back, McGee."

"Don't wanna go back."

"You have to, unfortunately."

Tim finally sighed and opened his eyes. Everyone was around him, looking down. He looked up.

"I know." He stood up and smiled. "I just don't want to go back to it. It was nice to pretend."

Abby hugged him. "One more time, Tim. That's all."

Suddenly, Tim was in the middle of the most stereotypical group hug ever. He couldn't quite believe it was happening...but he loved it and hugged everyone back as hard as he could. He didn't want to let go.

Then, it was time to get back in the car, ride back to the hospital, say good night to Ducky and Jimmy and pretend it didn't depress him to go back into his room, remove the mask and put back on the hospital gown.

Alone again, Tim sat down on his bed for a few minutes, but instead of going to sleep, he stood up and walked back to the window. The moon had traveled quite a bit in the time he'd been gone. The clouds had cleared away, leaving a black sky, lit up by the lights of DC and the reflected light of the sun. Tim looked on the view with a very different attitude.

He mimed making a toast. "Here's to thousands more beautiful nights...and me there to see them."

Then, he got into bed and went to sleep.


	17. Chapter 16: Chemotherapy, Part II

**Chapter 16: Chemotherapy, Part II**

Because it was a weekday, the only people there for the beginning of Tim's second round of chemotherapy were the McGees and Jimmy who was recovering from his donation. Tim was noticeably nervous, but he didn't say anything about it.

Dr. Scott came in and smiled. "Okay, we're at T minus 6 days. Are you ready, Tim?"

"I was born ready," he said softly. "Bring it on."

There were sad chuckles, but Dr. Scott just nodded. "Remember, this is a much higher dose. We're doing this by rapid injection rather than slow infusion because your body can tolerate the higher doses all at once. We're going to try some other anti-emetics this time. Hopefully, we can help you out this time. Remember that any problems you have should be reported, no matter how minimal you think they are. The more often you get chemotherapy, the more chance there is of toxicity effects; so don't try to be a hero. Just tell us when something is wrong."

"Got it."

Without further discussion, the first dose was injected through the central line. Tim laughed.

"What's so funny?" Sarah asked indignantly.

"You guys...all looking at me, waiting for something to happen. It won't be subtle."

"It sure wasn't last time," Sarah commented.

"Exactly."

It didn't take long before Tim was vomiting again. As promised they tried different drugs to stop the nausea and vomiting, but like last time, they didn't work. Tim was forced to go back on the IV full time. In addition to the nausea, this time, Tim was also blessed to suffer from diarrhea...which, thankfully, Dr. Scott was able to treat. Still, the weight he had gained back melted away and more. Tim seemed to shrivel. His energy levels plummeted and he didn't even have the strength to protest when they decided to reinsert the catheter. He broke out in rashes all over his body, requiring daily treatments. On the third day (T minus 4), Tim got his first ulcers, mouth sores and intestinal cramps. All of them were, again, treatable, but it caused him periods of pain, which only added to his misery.

At T minus 2, Tim's symptoms had calmed. The antibiotics were holding infection at bay. The nearly daily transfusions of blood cells and platelets kept him from becoming anemic. The vomiting had all but disappeared, although the nausea lingered. However, the whole experience left him so exhausted that he did little besides sleep. The rare moments when he was awake, there was always someone there, day or night. He would open his eyes, smile and then fall asleep again. He didn't see the tears, the fear, the anxiety. All he saw was the presence of someone who cared. On his part, he was so tired that he couldn't think of anything besides being tired...tired and sick.

The days passed for him in dollops. One moment, he'd be getting yet another injection. The next moment, he was watching one of his visitors leaving...one who hadn't been there when the injection was given. Then, it would be night time. Then, it would be light again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

On the day of the transplant, Merrily came in to do her daily cell counts, cleaning, and overall checkup. Tim seemed to be asleep...as usual. She smiled at the man in front of her. His skiff of hair was long gone...as was his weight. They had done their best to ameliorate that, but there was only so much they could do. His mouth was covered with sores in varying stages of healing. He breathed slowly, but so far, there had been no sign of any infection in his lungs.

"Today's the day, Timothy," she said softly, not wanting to wake him. There was no response as she had assumed. She just wanted him to know.

As she finished up her examination and prepared to take the samples for testing, she heard a soft voice, almost in a whisper.

"Merrily...we roll along." Then, a soft laugh.

She turned back around. Tim's eyes were open and he was grinning.

"Try one that I haven't heard before, Timothy."

"Ding, dong...merrily on high?"

She chuckled. "That one...well, it's not as common. I'll give you that."

"Score one for me," he said. "T minus zero, right?"

"Yes. I'm just taking your samples for testing and then we'll set up the transplant. Then, we just have to wait and see."

"That's all I've been doing...for weeks."

"Hopefully, this is the last time."

"Yeah. Otherwise, I'll probably just be waiting to die..." Before she could say something, he added, "...and that would just be no fun at all." He smiled.

Merrily smiled back gently. "Well, then, this time will just have to work then, won't it."

"Right."

Merrily turned to go and she heard another...very common tune.

"Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream..."

_If only this life was, Timothy_, she thought sadly and closed the door.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Another dollop of time passed and Tim opened his eyes to find everyone there.

"Hey...what's up?" he asked.

Jimmy smiled. "Showtime, McGee."

"Oh, joy and rapture...something getting injected into my body," he said with all the _joie de vivre_ he could muster...which wasn't much. Still, he managed to smile. "You know, this is going to take hours. Are you all going to stay the entire time?"

Tony shook his head. "No, of course not. We have work to do, Probie."

"So...you're here to–?"

"To watch the beginning," Abby said. "And we're not going to hear a word against it, Tim."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

They all watched in silence as the bag of stem cells was hung on a hook beside the saline drip. Dr. Scott and Merrily took some last minute measurements, and then...

"Here it comes."

"All right," Tim said. He watched the tube fill and drain down into the central line. _This is going to save my life._ It was strange how something so small, so...basic could be the one thing that he needed in order to continue living. For once, Tim didn't feel like going to sleep. He didn't talk. He just stared at the bag as it slowly emptied. It took several hours, and although his friends left as work called them away, the room did not empty completely. Sam stayed with him all through that day. He was going to have to leave soon. With the fall semester beginning in a week or two, he couldn't back out on all of his classes. Even Naomi admitted that it would be a bad idea, particularly when he had a full course load. Dr. Scott and various nurses were in and out quite often, but Sam was always there.

"Dad?"

"What, Tim?"

"What if this doesn't work?"

"I guess we try again."

Tim thought about that and watched as more of Jimmy's healthy immune system trickled out of the bag. Then, he shook his head.

"No."

Sam, who had been watching the bag as well, fastened his eyes on his son. "What do you mean?"

"It's not about me giving up, Dad. But if this doesn't work, I'm just going to spend whatever time I have saying good-bye. I'm not going to go through this again and risk slipping into a coma or simply dying miserably. It's not worth it."

"Tim."

Tim felt so tired, and he was beginning to feel cold, but he wanted to finish this. "I've been thinking about this. You and Mom still have my power of attorney, and even if something happens this time around, I don't want you to force me through this again. I want you to know what my decision is now, in case. I won't be able to live through it. I'd rather just be able to say good-bye. Before all this happened, I updated my will, and I..." Tim hesitated.

"What?"

"I started to plan my funeral," Tim admitted, smiling sadly. "That was on the first day. I just..." Tim felt the tears. "Dad, living my life in here is not living. It's like time is frozen for me while it's rushing by for the rest of the world...and if I have face the possibility of just dying in here, I don't want it. I want to either live or die, not this."

"Have you...told anyone else?"

"I told Dr. Scott. He agreed that if this doesn't work, I probably wouldn't survive another. He said it's my choice, but that he would support my decision. Will you?"

Sam leaned back in his chair. He looked at the bag still draining. He looked back at Tim. He couldn't answer. The man with a ready word could not answer his son.

Tim seemed to understand and he smiled. "Come on, Dad. It's not like death is the end, even when it comes." He blinked back tears at the realization that Sam had nothing to say. "Longfellow?" he asked. Sam closed his eyes.

Tim recited a short poem, trying to make things better, even if they weren't.

_"Tell me not, in mournful numbers,  
Life is but an empty dream!  
For the soul is dead that slumbers,  
and things are not what they seem.  
Life is real! Life is earnest!  
And the grave is not its goal;  
Dust thou art; to dust returnest,  
Was not spoken of the soul."_

Sam smiled and wiped away the tears. "You're right, but I hope...I can't tell you how much I hope that I don't have to accept that. A parent shouldn't have to bury his child."

"If I can live, I will, Dad. I just don't want it to be harder than it has to be...if the worst happens."

Sam reached out and pulled Tim over. He kissed him on the top of his bald head. "I should have known you'd be like this. You always are."

"Dad? Say it." Tim smiled through his tears.

Sam chuckled. "Okay. Mark Twain: 'The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.'"

"Nice one." Tim shivered.

Concerned, Sam called in the nurse on duty. It was not Merrily. Tim found that while, for the first bout, he hadn't taken the time to learn their names in the depths of his depression, now, he felt badly about that. He looked at her tag while she leaned over him. _Theresa. I'll remember that now._ The chills were taken seriously and they watched him very carefully for the next hour, but the shivers ebbed and faded away. Sometimes, the body reacted to the transplanted marrow even with the immune system depressed. Tim's did, but only mildly. Near the end, Sarah and Naomi came back from their shopping trip and showed off their purchases. Tim didn't mention his decision and Sam didn't bring it up either. Instead the two men tried to look interested.

After another hour...the bag was empty.


	18. Chapter 17: The Waiting Game

**Chapter 17: The Waiting Game**

And so began the waiting game. Tim knew that the only thing to do was wait...and he was so tired of waiting. Two days after the transplant, Dr. Scott made the decision to move Tim back into complete isolation. This time, it wasn't done in a rush, and they made arrangements for the room to be as comfortable as possible. Tim was too tired to protest. He simply nodded and focused on continuing breathing. It seemed as though when he didn't think about it, he stopped.

Seeing his lethargy, Tony took a couple of sick days (as he claimed, "Hey! _Someone_ is sick! It's just not me.") and brought a bunch of movies. He even raided Tim's apartment (again) and found the _Very Best of David Hasselhoff_ CD he had bought. As he hoped, Tim had laughed softly when Tony started the music.

"Where did you find that?" he asked, his eyes all the way open for once.

"At the back of your closet, McGee. I'm hurt that you didn't like my present for you."

"I was just keeping it safe, Tony."

"From what?"

Tim chuckled. "From me. I would have thrown it away if I had remembered it."

"Oh, wounded me to the core."

"You'll survive. I may not survive hearing this travesty, but you'll survive the insult."

Tony grinned and sat back to listen. It was predictably awful. They both groaned good-naturedly all the way through.

"My ears will never be the same," Tim commented at the end.

"Mine either," Tony agreed. "I'll admit it. I should never have bought it for you."

"Next time you go to Germany, you can buy me something better," Tim said softly. His eyes were drooping again.

"I'll remember that." Tony watched as Tim slid into sleep again. When Tony finally stood to go, he decided to leave the movies behind. He hated carting them back and forth, and Tim might want to watch them on his own.

Tim seemed to be holding his own as the nadir period passed but they all began to watch for signs that the cells had grafted...and for GVHD. A week and a half after the transplant, Tim himself seemed more hopeful, slightly more energetic. Sarah started school again. Sam had to go back to teach his classes. Naomi decided to do a week-on-week-off schedule rotating between home and DC. The NCIS people were more than happy to take up the slack where they could. Anytime there was any measure of regret for other opportunities missed while sitting with Tim, they were dispelled by the happiness on Tim's face at seeing visitors.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Perhaps it was fate. After having the discussion about not dying during British poetry, surely that was the only time something bad could happen. ...and it did. At 11:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, Tim began having trouble breathing. At 11:30 a.m., he was coughing up blood. By noon he had stopped breathing. At 12:02 p.m. his heart stopped. No one was there at the time except for the hospital staff. Sarah was in her British poetry class. Naomi and Sam were home. Everyone at NCIS was working.

"No, Tim! You can't do this! Not now! Not when you're doing so well!" Dr. Scott said, performing CPR. The crash team entered the room.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What do you got for me, Abbs?" Gibbs asked.

"Gibbs! I'll never figure out how you do that!" Abby said, grinning. "I just got the results..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Come on, Tim!"

There was a beat...then, another...then, another...

"Good. Good, Tim. Now, breathe!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony ducked behind his computer as the rubber band sailed toward his head.

"You ducked, Tony. You said you wouldn't," Ziva commented. "Admit it. I was going to hit you."

"Missed me by a mile."

"That is because you _ducked_."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Preliminary diagnosis of CPE."

"Non-invasive ventilation is not working. There's just not enough oxygen exchange."

"Prepare for endotracheal intubation."

"That's risky."

"So is letting his hypoxemia get any worse."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sarah leaned back in her seat and checked her watch. It was 12:12 p.m.

_Only eighteen minutes left and then I can go!_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Administering corticosteroids."

"Intubation seems to be working...for now."

Dr. Scott leaned back and looked at his patient. He did not relish the task that now fell to him. He looked at his watch: 12:25 p.m.

He had to tell Tim's friends and family that he was in a coma.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As soon as she saw she had a message on her phone from her parents, Sarah was worried. When she called them, she found out that Tim had nearly died of a pulmonary edema and was now in a coma. She looked at the classroom and realized this had all happened while she was in her class on British poetry.

Without a word, she ran, intent only on catching the nearest taxi and getting to the hospital.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby was trying to explain her test results to Gibbs when his phone began to ring. He would have ignored it, but it was from the hospital. He held up his hand for Abby to stop talking. She did, mostly out of surprise.

"What is it?" she asked, in a small voice when Gibbs hung up.

"McGee is in a coma."

Abby's mouth opened as if she was going to speak, but no words came out...only air.

Gibbs pulled her into a hug. "He's still alive, Abby. He's still alive."

"D-Do the others know?" Abby asked, still not crying yet.

"Not yet."

"We have to tell them."

"Get Ducky on the camera."

Abby whirled around.

"Yes? What is it? Mr. Palmer and I have a–" Ducky began.

"Ducky. Bullpen. Two minutes."

"All right, Jethro, but why–?"

Gibbs turned the camera off. Then, he stalked to the elevator, Abby in tow.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I am _not_ cheating!" Ziva said. "I am merely _better_ than you."

"No way, David!" Tony shot a rubber band toward her voice. "I'm king of the rubber bands."

"Not for long!"

"Knock it off!" Gibbs barked.

Tony and Ziva both straightened, guiltily. All thought of the rubber band war disappeared when they saw Abby's tears.

"What happened?"

Ducky and Jimmy got off the elevator and Gibbs wasted no time.

"McGee almost died a few minutes ago. He's now in a coma. Dr. Scott has already called the McGees. They had to put him on mechanical ventilation. Dr. Scott said that his heart stopped once."

"How did that happen?" Ducky asked.

"Acute pulmonary edema."

"Oh, dear. His lungs would already have been weakened from his pneumonia the first time around."

"Yes, and this time around, both the transplant _and_ the chemo weakened his blood vessels. Apparently, they leaked the fluid into his lungs."

"Is he going to be all right?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs couldn't answer, not honestly.

"He's in a coma?" Tony asked.

"What are we going to do?" Abby sobbed.

"We're going to call in the warrant on this dirtbag and arrest him. That's what we're going to do. Once we have him in custody, we're going to go to the hospital...but _not_ until then."

"Gibbs!" Abby protested.

Gibbs turned around and looked at her. "Don't you think I'd rather be there myself, Abby? We can't let this guy get away." Abby shook her head. "Tim wouldn't want that. Would he?"

"No."

"So, we're going to finish this case. Tony and Ziva..."

"...are going to stop shooting rubber bands at each other and get to work, Boss," Tony said.

Within half an hour, they had the warrant. Tony and Ziva went to arrest their murderer. They were a bit abrupt.

"Maxwell Lewis?"

"Yes? What is this about?"

"You're under arrest for the murder of Gunnery Sargeant Peter Wilson."

He pulled back about half a step when they began to turn him around and Ziva slammed him into the wall.

"We will not tolerate any resistance. You have the right to an attorney and you can exercise that right when you get to NCIS, no sooner. If you resist, I _will_ hurt you."

"And I won't see a thing," Tony added.

Lewis didn't resist.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When they got there, Sarah was sitting beside Tim. She had a book in her hand and she was reading. Tears were on her cheeks as well as in her voice.

_"The self-same moment I could pray;  
And from my neck so free  
The Albatross fell off, and sank  
Like lead into the sea._

_"Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,  
Beloved from pole to pole!  
To Mary Queen the praise be given!  
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,  
That slid into my soul."_

Then Sarah broke down crying and the book dropped from her hands to the floor.

"Wake up, Tim," she pled. "Wake up."

The others stood, unsure of what to do. Then, Gibbs donned the required garb and went into the room. He stopped beside Sarah and picked up her book. She looked up at him.

"It happened during my class...just like I said."

"He's not dead, Sarah," Gibbs said.

"He could die. I don't want him to die, Agent Gibbs. I don't...I don't want my brother to die."

Gibbs gestured and she stood. He hugged her tightly. Then, he handed her the book.

"Why don't you finish it?"

"It's British poetry," she said.

"It's a nice poem. Finish it."

Sarah looked at the book for a few seconds and then nodded. "Okay."

She sat down again and found the page. Gibbs sat beside her. Ducky, Jimmy, Abby, Tony, Ziva...they all came in and found seats...or stood. The only one who spoke was Sarah, and they listened as she read the _Rime of the Ancient Mariner_.

_"Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed  
The lighthouse top I see?  
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?  
Is this my own countree?_

_"We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,  
And I with sobs did pray–  
O let me be awake, my God!  
Or let me sleep alway."_

It took time to finish it. Coleridge wasn't short on words and the poem was a long one. Sarah was also reading slowly. She had to stop many times when her tears overcame her voice. Gibbs would put his hand on her shoulder, or he would turn the page for her. He encouraged her to keep on...as they all listened. Finally, she came to the end...

_"Farewell, farewell! but this I tell  
To thee, thou Wedding Guest!  
He prayeth well, who loveth well  
Both man and bird and beast._

_"He prayeth best, who loveth best  
All things both great and small;  
For the dear God who loveth us,  
He made and loveth all._

_"The Mariner, whose eye is bright,  
Whose beard with age is hoar,  
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest  
Turned from the bridegroom's door._

_"He went like one that hath been stunned,  
And is of sense forlorn:  
A sadder and a wiser man,  
He rose the morrow morn."_

The Wedding Guest rose...but Tim did not. The poem came to an end, but Tim's coma persisted...and a new waiting game began.


	19. Chapter 18: Healing and Waking

**Chapter 18: Healing and Waking**

Hours turned into days, and still Tim didn't wake. His coma didn't halt the progress of the grafts, however. That continued. By some miracle, the GVHD, although present, was very minor. Tim's skin began to flake and rashes erupted over a significant portion of his body, but nothing further. It appeared that Tim's tissue and Jimmy's stem cells were close enough that neither was attacking the other unduly. It was a cruel irony that, but for the coma, Tim's body was progressing as well as they could have planned, as well as anyone had hoped.

The NCIS team seemed to be at the hospital more often than they were at work. In a way, it was worse than Tim dying...because he was just lying there. One could make the very valid argument that they didn't _need_ to be with him. He wasn't awake. He didn't appear to be coming out of the coma anytime soon. They could probably come _less_ often than they had before...but no one tried to make that argument. They did the minimum of what was required. Jenny didn't say anything, but she lightened their workload. The other teams were more than willing to take up the slack while it was needed. Hardly a day passed that someone didn't stop by Tim's desk. There were flowers, cards, gifts. They couldn't take all that into the isolation room, but they wanted it to be there when Tim woke up. When...not if. No one admitted to the possibility that Tim would _not_ wake up.

At least not out loud.

They all dealt with Tim's coma in their own very unique ways. Tony would sit by Tim for hours...watching movies and keeping up a running commentary. Abby would talk...incessantly. Ziva said nothing when she came. She only sat beside him and held his hand. Gibbs only came in the middle of the night, like before when it had been a necessity. When he came he would sit and stare at Tim, searching for some sign of consciousness. Ducky and Jimmy tag-teamed. Ducky would ramble. Jimmy would search for something to say, but would often end up just being awkward...but he still came. Sam and Naomi always came in together. Sam hadn't told anyone about the conversation he and Tim had had before. It was not yet to the point when they had to make the decision, and he wouldn't until it was absolutely necessary. Sarah kept going to class. She didn't want to, but she knew that _Tim_ wanted her to...so she kept going. Then, she would come and visit and tell him all the things she was doing.

Days turned into weeks. Tim's lungs healed. They removed the ventilator, although there was still a nasal tube and Tim was under constant surveillance to make sure that there were no other complications. On the fourth week after Tim's transplant, two and a half weeks after he had fallen into a coma, Dr. Scott told them of his news.

"We've been testing Tim's blood every day, as you know, waiting for the first signs of white cells."

Tony, Ducky and Abby were missing from this gathering. They were desperately needed at NCIS and had agreed to stay behind while everyone else went to hear the news.

"And?" Naomi asked, fearing the worst.

"What did you find?" Sam asked, afraid that he would now have to tell everyone what Tim had told him.

Dr. Scott smiled, but it was a sad smile. "The marrow appears to be functioning normally. So far, we can't find any trace of the leukemia."

"Then, why will he not wake?" Ziva asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," Dr. Scott admitted. "Sometimes, even though the body is healing, the mind is not yet ready to re-engage. There may also have been some damage due to the time he stopped breathing or that his heart stopped. We won't know unless..."

"Until," Gibbs interrupted. "Until he wakes up."

Dr. Scott nodded. "Until."

They all looked at Tim. His body, so frail and so white, was so still. His chest moved slightly, rising and falling in a constant rhythm. His heartbeat was recorded...slow and steady. His body was alive...was his mind? No one knew because Tim was not telling.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Hours, days, weeks. They continued to pass, mostly unnoticed. Tim continued to heal. He continued to sleep. As time went on, no new leukemic cells were found. That Tim's cancer appeared to be cured caused Naomi to burst into tears. Her son had healed...only to...what? Sleep forever? Die? What would happen? Sam did everything he could and got people to take over his courses again. He said that he didn't care about being paid. He needed to be with his son. That mattered more than literature. His family was more important than anything.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_"Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,  
Call on the lazy, leaden-stepping hours,  
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace,  
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,  
Which is no more than what is false and vain,  
And merely mortal dross;  
So little is our loss,  
So little is thy gain."_

Sarah continued to read. She was onto John Milton...although she avoided "Death, Be Not Proud" and all of his epitaphs. That was too close. Ziva and Abby came in during "On Time". They just listened and watched Tim. It being a weekend, everyone would be coming in soon. There was an unspoken schedule. On Sundays, they all gathered together. Sometimes in silence...sometimes in conversation, but they were there. All of them. It had been nearly two months. Two months of waiting. Two months of anxious fearing.

One by one, the others came. Even Jenny was there that day. No one spoke much. Conversations sprang up and fizzled quickly.

Then, there was a soft sigh. Every eye turned toward the bed. It was the most noise Tim had made since before his coma. His eyes were closed.

...then, they weren't. He breathed in deeply and his eyes opened. He looked at them all. There was definitely some measure of awareness...he _looked_ at them. Then, his eyes closed again.

"Tim?" Afterward, no one knew who had actually spoken his name. It was said so softly that it was impossible to tell if it was male or female. They had all been _thinking_ it...but no one knew whose lips actually spoke.

As if someone had rewound a tape and replayed it, Tim breathed in again and his eyes opened. He exhaled and his eyes closed. Slowly, as if in a dream, Sarah reached out and pushed the call button. When Theresa came in, they were all still silent.

"What is it?"

"Tim opened his eyes."

"Are you sure?"

"We all saw it."

Abby leaned over the bed. "Tim? Come on, open your eyes again so that the nurse lady will believe it. Can you do that, Tim?"

A third time, Tim inhaled and opened his eyes. This time, he looked at Abby through heavy-lidded eyes and then shifted his gaze onto Theresa. She nodded.

"Good morning, Tim. I'm glad to see your pretty eyes again. I'm going to go and get Dr. Scott. Just relax."

The barest ghost of a smile crossed Tim's face and then his eyes closed again.

Theresa looked at the others. "That is a good sign. He's not only awake, but he's aware. You can speak, you know."

"I was afraid it might be a dream," Sarah said quietly.

"Not a dream, but not immediate healing either."

"It never is," Sam said.

After Theresa left, no one spoke. They all looked at Tim, hoping he would open his eyes again on his own, fearing he wouldn't, that this was all they'd get.

Ziva reached out a hesitant hand and shook him gently. Tim's eyes opened. He looked at Ziva and she smiled...although he couldn't see it. He looked at Sarah, and his mouth moved. No sound came out.

"What, Tim?"

His eyes drooped again, but they opened once more. He took another deep breath. "Time...?" It was a whisper so soft that it was almost inaudible, but the silence in the room otherwise was complete.

"You mean, Milton?"

A very slight nod.

"I'm taking British poetry, Tim. We're reading John Milton."

Again, Tim smiled very slightly. He seemed half asleep, but it was Tim, not just some remnant. When Dr. Scott came in, he agreed. Tim stayed awake only a few more minutes, but that was the turning point. From that moment, he began to improve. It was a long, sometimes torturous process. Tim's recovery from his coma was slow. The fact that his body had been rundown before didn't help matters, but at least he was healing now. There was no sign of paralysis...and so far, his mind appeared to operating normally. He didn't speak much for the first week after his awakening. Everyone had a word...sometimes two words that Tim had spoken to them during their visits (which continued even after Sunday). He spent most of his time sleeping, but he seemed make an effort to be awake when they were there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Ziva came in, he was asleep. She took his hand and was surprised when he actually squeezed her own.

"McGee, you are awake?"

Tim's voice came back in the soft whisper that appeared to be all he could manage. "You're here."

"Yes. I am here. I will stay. You will not be alone."

Tim smiled.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Ducky came, Tim was already awake, but still lethargic. He smiled at Ducky.

"Story?"

"Of course, Timothy. When will I ever run out of stories?" Ducky asked. He sat down and began to tell Tim about his schooling. Tim's eyes were closed more often than not, but he seemed to be listening.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony brought another movie...of course. Tim didn't wake up for the first half of it, but during the second half he opened his eyes.

"What's this?"

"What's this, Probie? This is nothing less than Tom Selleck's breakout from television to the silver screen!"

Tim blinked very slowly and managed to raise his eyebrows.

"_High Road to China!_"

Tim blinked again and stared at the screen. He stayed awake for the rest of the movie, but Tony couldn't help wondering how much he actually took in. Tim was just moving so slowly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby visited...but she was strangely silent. She kissed Tim on the cheek through her mask. When she sat back, his eyes were open and he was smiling.

He only said a single word. "Abby." He lifted his hand to her cheek. It only stayed for a moment before falling back to the bed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sarah's visit overlapped with Abby's the day that Tim spoke to her. She had already been happy to know that he had at least heard some of what she read to him, but then, when she came in, he was sleeping. Abby smiled at her and left a few minutes later.

"Sorry."

Sarah hadn't even been looking at him. She had been drowsing.

"What, Tim?"

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault. I shouldn't have taken British poetry," she said, smiling...but tearing up.

Tim levered himself up, the first major movement he'd made, and lifted a shaking arm. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and hugged him, crying as she felt how light he was. Although she was holding him up, she felt as though Tim was actually comforting her. He didn't say anything more, and he fell asleep...again...after their hug, but Sarah _was_ comforted. That was the kind of thing Tim would do, try to make her feel better.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jimmy came early in the morning before work. He didn't plan on staying very long, but he wanted to see how Tim was doing. Tim didn't wake up during his entire visit...not until the end.

Jimmy stood up, smiling at Tim's slumbering form and turned to go.

"Thanks."

Jimmy turned around. Tim's eyes were half-closed, but he was awake.

"You're welcome, Tim. Anytime."

Tim nodded ...and slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim? Can you wake up for us?" Sam asked softly.

Tim didn't...not at first. It took a few minutes before Sam and Naomi got to see their son awake. They were concerned by how slow everything seemed to be going, how little Tim was talking, how little he was moving. Their only comfort was that Dr. Scott seemed to be _unconcerned_ about it. He said that it was normal for coma patients to recover slowly. What they should focus on was the fact that Tim was still Tim, that he recognized everyone and remembered everything.

"Mom...Dad..."

"Tim," Naomi said. "Oh, Tim. I'm so glad you're awake."

"Tired."

"I'm sure. You can sleep as much as you want. We'll be here for you. All of us will."

Tim smiled and nodded.

"Love you."

"I love you, too."

Then, Tim was asleep again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It took another month for Tim to recover completely from his coma. Three and a half months after the transplant. Tim still tired easily, but whether that was from the coma or from the cancer, no one knew for sure. It was to be expected from both. It was November. There was no sign of chronic GVHD. There was no sign of leukemia. Finally, things seemed to be going right. Not all at once...but slowly.


	20. Chapter 19: Family

**Chapter 19: Family**

"Everything is looking good, Tim," Dr. Scott said. It was a rare moment when no one was visiting.

Tim sighed and tried not to fall asleep...again. "Then, _why_ am I still so tired all the time?"

"Tim, we've checked you for everything we can think of. We're still running blood tests every day, but... quite frankly, we're not sure _why_ you're still so lethargic."

"You don't know? Could it be...?"

"It could be nothing, Tim," Dr. Scott said firmly. "You are not only still recovering from a very difficult round of chemotherapy _and_ a transplant, but you're also recovering from a two-month coma caused by a pulmonary edema that nearly killed you. I haven't ever had that kind of combination of problems in my patients. You have a lot to recover from. It's natural that it would take some time."

"No offense, but I'm really tired of being here."

"None taken. The Hilton, this isn't...but your cell counts are climbing and as soon as your physical therapist clears you, we can start to look into discharging you."

"I can still barely remain upright for more than five minutes."

"Two months, Tim," Dr. Scott reiterated. "Two months. And we had no idea whether you would ever wake up, or if you did, what kind of brain function you would have. You had no secondary infections. Your blood vessel walls have strengthened so that we don't have to worry about more fluid buildup. You appear to have suffered _no_ brain damage at all. You even missed your minor GVHD."

"I should stop complaining, huh?" Tim said, slightly chagrined.

"No. I'm not telling you all this to make you feel guilty. I'm telling you this so that you realize how lucky you are. I want you to stop being so frustrated by the little things. You know already how long it will take before you can resume your normal lifestyle. Even after you leave the hospital, you'll still be here five or even six days a week for the first few months. You have a long road ahead, but I am more confident than ever that you can make it. We'll need to be on the lookout for the long-term complications, but so far, you're doing as well as anyone could have expected."

"I just didn't think it would be so long."

Dr. Scott sat down on the bed. "Tim, you have to understand that your coma set you back...significantly. We cannot discharge you until you are able to care for yourself...and as you yourself admitted, you can barely stand up still. You lost a lot of muscle tone, and getting that back is complicated by your already-low energy levels. It's hard to exercise when you don't have any energy as it is."

Tim sighed. He knew all this already, but...it was so hard. He yawned widely and Dr. Scott chuckled.

"Go ahead and sleep some more, Tim. We'll have you running marathons in no time."

Tim smiled. "I wasn't running marathons _before_ this happened."

"See? You'll be better than ever."

Tim gave in and laughed a little. He watched Dr. Scott leave and sighed again.

_I don't want to sleep the rest of my life away,_ he thought in annoyance. It was the perfect irony that he was supposedly getting better but he was still stuck in the hospital bed. His sleep patterns were all screwed up. He would sleep through half the day and then wake up in the middle of the night. He would close his eyes for two seconds and find that five hours had gone by without his noticing.

"I should be glad that I'm waking up at all," he said to himself and then looked out the window. He was glad to be back in a regular room again. Isolation was nothing short of depressing. It had been June when this had started. Now, it was December. It was almost Christmas. He had hoped to at least be able to go home for that, but it didn't look as though that would be happening now. He heard some people humming out in the hallway and he smiled. _Ding, dong merrily on high._ Then, he yawned once more and gave into the sleep pulling him down into unconsciousness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs sat in his basement staring at the tarp that covered his boat. He hadn't worked on it once in the last five months. It had been a shock to realize that, but even now, with that realization clear as a bell...clear as the dust that covered his tools, he wasn't tempted to work on it. He knew why. Ever since he had been the one to visit Tim right when he had started getting pneumonia, he had continued his nighttime invasions...mostly for his own peace of mind. The nights he had free were spent usually watching Tim sleep. It was silly, he knew. It wasn't as though Tim had a shortage of visitors, and he didn't even realize that Gibbs had been there. Gibbs wasn't even family...not really.

_But he's a part of my team._ Family was pretty thin on the ground for Gibbs. His team more or less took the place of that...and that included Tim. Without further thought, Gibbs flipped off the light in the basement and prepared to head to the hospital...again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim opened his eyes and sighed. Yep, middle of the night and wide awake. How typical.

"I should start telling people to come and visit me at midnight instead of at noon," Tim muttered. He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs put on the mask. It was funny how something that was so annoyingly uncomfortable just a few months ago had become so normal. Then, he quietly opened the door. Tim was asleep. That wasn't unusual. He was asleep more often than he was awake even a month after his coma.

"Boss?"

Gibbs blinked in surprise. Tim's eyes were open, and he didn't appear sleepy at all.

"What are you doing here?"

"Same as usual."

"Yes, but...you were here earlier today with Tony and Ziva." Tim squirmed around in bed to look at the clock. "It's two a.m. Why now?"

"You're more awake now."

Tim seemed embarrassed by that. He looked down and away toward the window. "I keep telling myself that I'm going to get out of here some day, but sometimes, it seems like it will never happen."

"It will, McGee."

"Not in time for Christmas," Tim said softly.

"No, probably not." There didn't seem to be any point in lying about that.

Tim didn't look away from the window, but there was a strange note in his voice when he spoke again. "Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

"Will I...will I still have a job?"

"Why would you think otherwise?"

"Sick leave doesn't generally entail taking an entire year off work."

"No, but these are unique circumstances."

Tim turned away. "But I know that you need to have a full team, that you need to have people working. Crime doesn't stop just because something happened to me. Even after I get out of the hospital, it will still be months before I'm ready to do _anything_ at work, even desk duty."

Gibbs leaned forward. "That desk is _yours_, McGee. No one else's. Yours. We've had people TAD-ed when necessary. Otherwise, we're fine. Whenever you get back, you'll have a job...on my team."

Tim seemed nearly ready to cry.

"Of course, you might have trouble _finding_ your desk when you get back."

Tim looked a little confused. "Why?"

"Because there's so much junk on there from everyone that you can't even see the surface."

"Junk? From whom?"

"From pretty much everyone working at NCIS."

"What is it?"

"Cards, flowers, gifts. They come by and put it there. I hope there's nothing perishable wrapped up in there because we haven't been able to do anything with it, except throw the dead flowers away."

Tim laughed, but he was extremely surprised. "Wow. That's..." He looked at the collage. "...I can't believe how..." he laughed again. "I don't even have words for it."

"Well, that's a switch." Gibbs watched as Tim struggled to gather his thoughts.

"It's like I have a whole other family, Boss," Tim said, still staring at the collage. "Did you know that last week, when you and Ziva were at that conference, Tony came in here and sat with me..._talking_? It wasn't just watching movies. He was talking to me...for hours. Ziva hardly misses a day. Abby _never_ misses a day. ...and you're here in the middle of the night when I'd expect you to be working on your boat instead." Tim brushed away tears that he seemed embarrassed to be shedding. "I don't know. I would never have expected this even a year ago."

"It would have happened a year ago, McGee. It would have happened two years ago."

"...but not three?" Tim said smiling.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"It doesn't matter. It's happening now. I don't think I would have made it otherwise."

"You would have, McGee."

Tim leaned back. "Abby keeps asking me if I remember anything from my coma. You know, all that stuff about people in comas being able to hear things."

"And?"

"And I couldn't tell you anything that happened...but...I've had dreams since I came out of it. I don't know if they're memories or if they're just dreams, but there's always someone there, not always talking, but always there. Sometimes, it's you or Ducky or Tony or Ziva or Abby. I mean, they're boring dreams, but it's almost as if I'm remembering what happened while I slept...and I needed it, Boss. I've needed everyone. That's what has made this so hard. I don't like having to rely on other people to get me through, but I've had to. From Ziva cleaning my apartment the night before I left..." Gibbs raised his eyebrows at that comment. She hadn't ever mentioned it. "...to Tony forcing me to watch movies with him. My family has been great. Dad even hated going back for the end of the semester, and Mom had a hard time deciding where to be. The thing that's made it easier for them is all of you at NCIS." Tim shifted around a little bit, looking uncomfortable, but he smiled. "I know we're not supposed to be all mushy, but I have two families, and I've needed both of them. If nothing else, I've learned that from having cancer."

Gibbs smiled at the little speech. Tim seemed embarrassed but determined to make it known.

"I guess the short form is..." he shrugged. "...thanks."

"Short form...you're welcome."

Tim flushed.

Gibbs wondered if more needed to be said. He wasn't sure...but he looked at Tim's face and decided that he could give a long form as well.

"Long form. I haven't worked on my boat once in the last five months, McGee."

"What?"

"My boat. It's sitting under a tarp, untouched for the last five months. Do you know why?"

Tim opened his mouth, but Gibbs knew what he'd say; so he cut him off.

"It's because, as much as I love building my boats, people are more important. Even if all you're doing is sleeping, McGee, it's more important that you are okay than it is that I build yet another version of the same thing. That is not something for you to apologize for; so don't even think about it." He was gratified to see Tim blush. "That is because we _are_ a team...and we _are_ a family of sorts...a dysfunctional one, but still a family. That is why your desk is covered with junk. That is why Tony comes and torments you with movies. That is why Ziva comes even if she doesn't know what to do with herself. You are a part of the team and a part of the family. It's not mushy to say that, McGee. It's nothing less than the truth."

"Thanks, Boss," Tim whispered.

Gibbs stood up. "If you're not out of here by Christmas, you won't be alone. I promise."

Tim looked up, tears in his eyes. "I know that, Boss. I've never been alone."

"Good night, McGee."

"Good night, Boss."


	21. Chapter 20: Homeward Bound

**Chapter 20: Homeward Bound**

"I don't want to use a walker," Tim grumbled. "That's for old people." He knew he was being childish, but he still didn't want it.

Christopher, the physical therapist, who had taken great pains to say that his name was Christopher, not Chris or Topher or any other possible shortened form, chuckled, unoffended. "No, it's for people who need it, Tim...and you do."

Tim grimaced.

"Do you know how much faster you'll be able to leave if you work with this now? You'll be able to walk and build your leg muscle much more quickly while walking than you will if you simply sit around."

Tim looked at the walker in distaste, but he knew Christopher was right...like usual. Even with the exercises he'd been doing, there was still more he needed to do before he could leave. Christmas Eve was in two days...and he would still be in the hospital. His parents were driving down the next morning to celebrate Christmas with him. Tim sighed and rubbed at the scruff on his head. His hair was finally growing back. He was eating again, albeit sparingly.

"Well?" Christopher prompted. "It's not permanent, Tim. You could almost not use it now, but you still need the help...and the exercise."

"Isn't there anything else I could use?"

"Why?"

_Because I don't want to invite ridicule,_ Tim thought. However, considering everything that had happened, how he looked, what he'd gone through, it seemed silly to act like he had much in the way of pride or dignity left...besides, no one had ridiculed him. Not once. He looked at the walker again and finally nodded.

"Okay." He pushed himself off the bed, wondering as he did so if he'd ever get rid of this lingering fatigue. "I'll settle for staying awake on Christmas Eve," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Tim walked the two steps and grabbed the walker firmly and gave a sardonic grin. "Race you to the end of the hallway."

"Go for it, Tim."

For the next hour, Tim walked around the Cancer Institute. For about the first time, he felt well enough to see some of the other patients. Many of them were little kids, sick like him, blad like him. Ziva and Tony came about 45 minutes into his trek when his energy was flagging. They found him leaning heavily on the walker, bending over so that a little girl could glue a red puff ball onto his face mask.

"Is it on?" he asked, not noticing his teammates.

"Needs to be harder," she said and pushed hard on his nose. "There!"

"Now, am I Rudolph?" Tim asked.

"You don't have any antlers, Probie!" Tony said, loudly. "We'll have to do something about that." He looked at Ziva. "Rudolph is–"

"The reindeer with the big red glowing nose," Ziva finished quickly. "I have been here for over three years, Tony. I know."

"Hey...guys?" Tim straightened, gripping the walker tightly. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"No," Tony said. He turned his attention to the little girl. "Hey, I'm Tony."

"This is Tonya," Tim said.

"I'm seven!" she announced.

"And you're rockin' the bald look," Tony said, grinning.

"My daddy says that, too. He told me that it was a good thing all my hair fell out because my eyes are so beautiful that no one can get distracted." She did have beautiful eyes, large and dark brown.

"She is too young for you, Tony," Ziva said grinning. "Your eyes are very lovely. Are you here for Christmas?"

She nodded solemnly. "Yes. Mommy and Daddy wanted me to go home with them, but I wanted to stay."

"You _wanted_ to stay?" Tim asked, momentarily forgetting his red nose. "I wish I could go home for Christmas."

Tonya smiled. "Well, it's going to be my last Christmas and I wanted to spend it here...like I did the last two years."

"Your last?" Ziva asked, growing serious.

"Uh-huh," Tonya said, sounding singularly unconcerned. "They looked in my head last week and the tumor..." she paused and looked earnestly at Tony and Ziva. She beckoned them to kneel down. Then, she glanced at Tim. "I'll bet you know this already, but they might not." Tim swallowed and smiled. "A tumor is a big lump of bad stuff that grows in your body in places. Mine is in my head. They took it out once...see? Right here." She pointed to a scar. "But it came back. They tried a bunch of things and I got really sick. Last week, they went and looked in my head again, but it's too big. It's not going to go away this time. It's just getting bigger and bigger. So, after Christmas, I'm going to go home and say good-bye to everyone and..." She smiled again, her face lighting up. "...and I'm going to go to Disneyworld!"

"Aren't you scared?" Tim asked.

"I was. The first time I had to get sick I was scared, but my daddy told me a big secret. You want to hear it?" She gestured for Tim to come closer. He knelt on the ground, wondering if he'd be able to get back up. "If you're not sick you can't hear the secret," she said to Tony and Ziva.

"Why not?" Tony asked.

"Because you don't need it. This is for us who need it." Then, she leaned over conspiratorily and whispered in Tim's ear. "All the good little girls automatically go to heaven. So I don't have to be sad or scared."

"What about me?" Tim whispered back.

She smiled and touched the puff ball. "I'll tell God to let you in special."

"Wow, you'd do that for me?" Tim asked, feeling a lot more touched than he had expected.

"If you find some antlers," she said and laughed.

"I will..."

"Tonya! What are you doing out here?" A frazzled-looking young woman came hurrying down the hall and stopped when she saw Tim, the nature of his illness very much obvious.

"Just talking, Mommy."

"I'll find some antlers and I'll show you. I promise," Tim said. He experimentally flexed his muscles to try and regain his feet, but his arms trembled enough that he decided not to try.

"Great!"

"Daddy's in your room, dearest. He has something to show you."

"What? What?" Tonya asked, nearly jumping up and down in her excitement.

"You'll have to go back and see."

"Okay! Bye, Tim! Merry Christmas! Don't forget your antlers!"

"I won't. Merry Christmas, Tonya."

Tonya took off down the hallway, not running, but walking quickly.

"I'm Silvia, Tonya's mother." She held out her hand. When Tim reached out to take it, his arm was shaking. "Oh, dear. Can you get up?"

Tim flushed. "Probably not. I shouldn't have gone down in the first place."

"Let me help," she said and grasped his arms. "Wow. You're skin and bone, aren't you? You just getting started?"

Tony answered. "No, he's on the other end. Believe me. This is an improvement."

"Ah," she said nodding in sympathy as she helped Tim to his feet. "You must have had it rough. I don't think I've seen you around. You been here long?"

"Nearly six months," Tim admitted.

"Really. How is that possible? I thought I knew _all_ the patients here at least by face. Tonya tends to introduce herself to everyone."

"I wasn't exactly out and about."

"Must have been bad."

Tonya still in his mind, and conscious that he was speaking to a mother who would soon be mourning the loss of her daughter, Tim shrugged. "It wasn't that bad."

"Wasn't bad?" Tony echoed disbelievingly. "Probie here got pneumonia, a pulmonary edema and was in a coma for two months."

"In addition to chemo? That _is_ rough."

"Could have been worse," Tim said, feeling embarrassed by the attention.

Silvia just shook her head. "I'm sure it could have been...and you would probably be dead rather than speaking to me right now." Her eyes glistened a little. "Don't denigrate your own experiences. No cancer is easy...even if you survive it."

"No, it's not."

"Do you need help back?"

Tim shook his head. "No. If I begin to wilt, I'll ask..." Tim looked at Tony. "...Ziva to carry me the rest of the way."

Tony punched him...very lightly. "With how light you are, Probie, I'll bet _Tonya_ could carry you."

"It was nice to meet you, Silvia...and Tonya, as well," Tim said.

"Likewise. Get well, and merry Christmas." Then, she walked down the hall.

"Are you going to make it, McGee?" Ziva asked, seriously.

"We'll see," Tim said and set off.

He did make it...most of the way. They met up with Christopher who berated Tim for trying to run himself into the ground on his first day with the walker. He firmly told Tim to wait while he got a wheelchair. He then took Tim back to his room and told him to rest for the remainder of the day. Tim agreed, and told Tony and Ziva to make sure they found him some antlers. Then, he slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, are you sure about this?" Sarah asked, surprised at Tim's attire.

It was Christmas Eve. Tim was wearing regular clothes that looked as though they'd fall off him. On his face was the mask with the red puff ball on it...capping it all was a pair of antlers on his head. He hadn't been able to get them to stay. They kept flopping around without hair to anchor them in place; so he had taken a roll of tape and fastened them to his head. For once, he didn't seem to care about how silly he looked.

"Hey, you don't have to come," Tim said. He was settled in the wheelchair. His plan for the evening would take up a lot of energy as it was. He couldn't try and walk all around. "I'll do it by myself."

"That's not what I meant, Rudolph. I meant are you ready for this?"

"Of course," Tim said. He had cleared it with the hospital staff first, of course, and they had been excited at the prospect. He had checked with Dr. Scott, with Christopher and he had forced everyone else to join in. He was excited. He was happy. He still looked thin as a rail and about as sturdy, but he seemed more...alive than he had in a long time.

So...when they set off singing merrily, no one could find it in them to deny Tim his Christmas Eve celebration. As a large traveling troupe, they went off through the hospital, singing Christmas carols to anyone who would listen. Tim made sure to stop by the nurses' station and sing "Ding Dong Merrily on High" which got a laugh. He went to Tonya's room and sang "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and a few others by request. The singing wasn't perfect by any means. In many cases it wasn't even _good_, but the heart that was in it made up for the flaws. Tim held out for just over an hour before his energy flagged. Finally, he had to admit that he was done and go back to his room. Naomi helped him remove the taped antlers from his head. Everyone chatted for a little while but Tim's obvious exhaustion soon drove them out...except for his family.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Tim asked with a large yawn.

"It was great, Tim," Naomi agreed. "You're looking much better."

"I'm still tired."

"That will pass."

"I hope so."

"It will," Sam said. "I've been bragging about you to my classes."

"For what?"

Sarah rolled her eyes, but Sam was the one who answered. "Because for the last class meeting, I decided to talk about Winston Churchill."

"That's no surprise. You would work Churchill into a course on...medieval...Indian love poetry," Sarah said.

"Shush. I didn't even bring him up. Someone else suggested him."

"They probably read your article on the power of Churchill's orations."

"Shush! We _were_ talking about his power to motivate, but someone else brought up Tim."

"How did they know?"

"Because _everyone_ in the English department knows. I told them that I was proud of you because you typified one of Churchill's statements regarding courage and perseverance."

"Dad..."

"No need to get embarrassed. No one's here but we four."

Tim flushed anyway.

"Which statement, Dad?" Sarah asked.

Sam grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Sam," Naomi said.

"'If you're going through hell, keep going.'"

"Sounds like Churchill," Tim said softly.

"Tim, I can't tell you how proud I am of you...and how relieved I am that I can tell you...that I can't tell you," Sam said, smiling.

"Yeah...me, too," Tim said. "Merry Christmas, Dad." Tim sat up and hugged Sam tightly.

"Well, we'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, Tim," Naomi said, forcing the tears out of her voice. She kissed the top of his head and then they all left.

Tim lay back and was about to drop off to sleep...he was tired enough that it wasn't hard...when there was a soft knock at the door. He sat up once more and decided that he didn't have the energy to walk to the door.

"Come in?"

The door opened and to his surprise Silvia and a man who must be her husband both stuck their heads in the door.

"Hey, Tim? This is my husband, Matthew. Tonya wanted to come by. Is that all right?"

"Sure! I'm not going to be all that entertaining at the moment, but you're welcome."

"Oh, we need masks!" The heads withdrew and then, the three of them came in. Tonya had a flat package in her hands.

"Tonya, merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Tim. I wanted to give you a present."

"Oh, you didn't have to. I didn't even think to get you anything."

"You got antlers," she said seriously. "_And_ you came and sang. You also told me _all_ about your cancer...and most people won't do that because they think I'm too young or something. My friend Jerry had leukemia. He died last year. Julie had a brain tumor just like me, but they got it all out and she's at home. Now, you had leukemia, like Jerry, but you're all better...almost."

"Almost."

"So...I draw pictures for all my friends, but I didn't have one for you because I just met you...although I met your door a couple of months ago. There was no one in here then."

"You met my door?"

"Yeah. I can tell the places I'm not allowed to go. So I just would say hi to your door instead...but yesterday, I drew you a picture." She handed him the package.

"Thank you, Tonya. Can I open it now, or do I need to wait for Christmas Day?"

"Open it, now! I want to see if you like it!"

Tim grinned and pulled off the tissue paper. He laughed when he saw the picture. She had drawn him...as a reindeer., complete with the red puff ball on his mask and antlers.

"Turn it over! I did another one, too. A serious one."

Tim flipped over the paper and sure enough, there was another picture. This one was Tim running around outside. There were bright flowers everywhere and butterflies and a bright yellow sun overhead. He was waving up into the sky...at a little girl with dark brown eyes and wings...and no hair. Tim's lips twisted, even as he tried to smile.

"It's beautiful, Tonya. I'll make sure I do that very thing when I get a chance."

"I figured it wouldn't be until spring; so you can wait until then."

"Thank you. Thank you."

Tim didn't see Tonya on Christmas Day. She was with her family and Tim's friends and family all were around. It was a day filled to the brim with laughter and caring. All of Tim's friends came...not all at once because some had their own celebrations, but Ducky came and Jimmy came later in the day. Gibbs was there. Abby was there. Even Ziva came to celebrate Christmas, notwithstanding the differences in religious belief. They all exchanged gifts and then, Tim showed them the picture Tonya had drawn for him. Everyone was still joyful, but it was a muted, tempered joy. What they had, the hope and the expectations they now had could so easily be swept away. It was far too easy to imagine a situation similar to that of Tonya's parents...waiting for a child to die. They had a deeper appreciation of the joy they now possessed. Tim was alive. He was thriving. He would survive...but he remembered Tonya and hoped that she would also be happy, even in the midst of the sorrow that was no doubt paining her parents.

Then, of course, Tonya left the day after Christmas. On New Year's Eve, he got a postcard from Disneyworld. He wondered how in the world he could have made enough of an impression on that little girl that she wanted to send him a card, but he promised himself that he would never forget her.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Midnight approached and for once, Tim was alert enough that he thought he could stick it out until the beginning of the new year. His room was full of people, all wearing masks...as he was. The door opened at 11:45 p.m. to admit Dr. Scott.

"Wow. I thought that maybe some of you would have left," he said, smiling.

"Not until midnight," Tim said and yawned widely. "Only...fifteen more minutes."

"You going to make it?"

"If it kills me," Tim said firmly. "What's up?"

"I have some news."

Everyone went silent.

"Wow. I couldn't do that if I tried in a classroom," Dr. Scott said.

"News can be good or bad. Which is it this time?" Tim asked.

"I'll let you decide."

"Sadist," Abby said, but her tone was light.

"I've been talking with Christopher and he and I agree that you're on track to be discharged next week."

"D-Discharged?" Tim asked. "I...get to go home?" It seemed impossible. It seemed unbelievable. More than six months he had lived in this hospital...and now...he was going to leave it?

"Yes, Tim. That's what I'm saying. There is still no sign of leukemic cells. Your physical therapy is coming along, although Christopher wants to be sure you're not going to overdo it. You're appetite is coming back and you don't even have an IV anymore. The central line will have to stay in for a few more months, of course, and you'll be here a _lot_...but yes, you get to go home."

Silence. Complete silence...except for _Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve_. It was 11:47 p.m. Thirteen minutes to the new year.

"Well, don't all shout out at once," Dr. Scott said and even though they couldn't see his face, they knew he was grinning.

Abby was the first to shout. She grabbed Tim and kissed him through their masks. Then, there were so many huggings and kissings and shoutings and congratulations floating around that they missed the ball drop. Suddenly, it was a new year...and Tim was on his way home.


	22. Chapter 21: Departures

**Chapter 21: Departures**

"No change?" Tim asked. He was paranoid now that something would happen, something terrible and debilitating that would either kill him or trap him in the hospital for another six months...he couldn't decide which would be worse.

"No, Tim," Dr. Scott said, smiling. "Except for your cell counts. They're still climbing. It will be a few months before they're back at normal levels, but in spite of all the crap you had to deal with before, you seem to be doing very well now...better than expected."

"I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Well, stop waiting. I told you before that your attitude has a lot to do with how quickly you heal and how your treatment progresses." Dr. Scott sat down on the end of the bed. It was a familiarity that was often absent from regular doctors. There was a special bond that was formed between oncologists and their patients, particularly those like Tim who spent so much time in their care. "You should have died from the edema, Tim. I didn't mention it before because there was no point, and it would only make everyone worry. You should have died. At best, you should have had some form of brain damage from the hypoxemia and the period of time when your heart stopped. I was...very surprised by how well you've recovered. It had nothing to do with my skills. It has to do with you, with your friends and family. I've seen people for whom everything went right die for no reason. There was no medical reason, but they gave up. They were either alone or too tired to try any longer. That's what often kills people in the end. So, you need to remember how much you've already accomplished and how much you can get back because if you forget and start to think only about the time it's taking or how tired you are, you'll be much more likely to fail, to relapse, to suffer from the long-term complications. Perhaps it's not especially scientific, but I've seen happen in both directions too often to doubt it myself. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good. So...who's staying with you?"

"Sarah. She's pretty much going to move in for the spring semester. We'll more than likely want to kill each other, but it makes the most sense."

"Who will be bringing you here?"

"For the first few weeks, Sarah will when she can, but otherwise, I've got a rotating schedule," Tim said. "Then, hopefully, I'll start driving myself."

"Good. You spoke with the hygienist?" Tim nodded. "Stick to what she told you and you're much less likely to have problems digestively-speaking."

"Yes, sir," Tim said and saluted.

"So, where is your fan club?"

Tim smiled. "Sarah is in class. Tony, Ziva, Gibbs, Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy are all working. Mom and Dad had to go back. My dad's on the verge of losing his job if he misses any more school this year. So, I'm on my own until this afternoon. I'm just going to gather up my stuff."

"Well, seeing as you'll be here nearly every day, I'm not really saying good-bye, but I did want to say that it's been a pleasure, Tim...and I don't know if I've ever been as happy to send someone home." He held out his hand.

Tim shook it. "Thanks, Dr. Scott. For everything."

"That's what I do. I'm happy when my patients cooperate." Dr. Scott left.

Tim began to gather up his possessions. There weren't many, but he didn't want to leave them behind. He went into the bathroom first. He never would have thought that he'd be so appreciative of being able to pee by himself. The things that become important. He pulled various toiletries from the sink and put them in the travel bag. He stopped when he came to the razor. He looked into the mirror.

Timothy McGee was staring back at him. What a shock. Thin, to be sure. Pale, absolutely. His eyes seemed to be larger than usual. There was a small amount of hair on his head. He rubbed it gently and picked up the razor. He still remembered Tony shaving it off that one evening when it seemed to be the worst thing in the world to lose. It mattered so little now. In the long run, what did it matter whether the strands of keratin were on his head or not? He smirked at himself even as he thought it. There was no way he was leaving himself bald. He was very happy that his hair was growing back finally. It was Timothy McGee in the mirror. Tim nodded to himself and turned away.

The moment of investigation over, Tim went back to gathering his stuff. After he finished in the bathroom, he took his bag back out into the main room. He looked out the window. Being the middle of January, the weather had turned snowy and cold. It was beautiful...moreso simply because he was seeing it from a distance, blocked from the world by a pane of glass. No matter. That wouldn't last much longer.

The collage on the wall. Tim still smiled every time he saw it, the reminder of how many people had cared so much. He'd flipped through the individual pictures so many times he had them all memorized. Abby had, true to her word, made a slide show and shown it to him. He loved it. Reverently, he took the collage off the wall and rolled it up to keep it protected during transport.

The picture from Tonya and the mask with the red puff ball. Tim hadn't heard anything in the last week. He wondered if Tonya was still at Disneyworld or if she was home...or if she had already died. The two items went into a special pocket in his bag so that they weren't bent or torn.

There was just one thing he wished he could leave behind: the central line that was still implanted in his chest. It couldn't be yet, but he wished it was. But for that, he felt almost normal. Not quite, of course. He still got tired much too easily and he was weak, but when he sat still, he felt normal...except for the line. He rubbed the skin around it gently. He'd been lucky that it hadn't ever been infected. There was a lot of potential for infection there, but the stringent cleaning schedule had prevented that.

Tim looked around the room. There was nothing left to pack. It hadn't taken very long. He was wearing normal clothes...but they were too big. He knew he should just buy new ones to get him by until he gained the weight back, but he didn't want to do that. It was like he was admitting that there would be a long wait. Besides, he didn't plan on having to go through this again; so it would be a waste of money.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, you ready?" Sarah asked, poking her head in the door a few hours later.

"Are you kidding? I was ready six months ago," Tim retorted. He put on a mask, but not before grimacing at the sight of the wheelchair.

"Hospital rules, Tim."

"I know. That doesn't mean I have to like it," Tim grumbled, but he sat down in the chair anyway.

Sarah started pushing him along, grinning all the while. The mask was mostly a precaution now. As his cell counts continued to climb, he'd be in less danger of getting sick, but he was having to build his immune system up from scratch. That included vaccinations, although those would have to wait until at least May. Until then, he would have to be more careful. His apartment had been outfitted with a special air filtration system and everything had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life, ready to receive him. Abby had purloined a laptop for him in case he got too tired to sit up at his computer.

When they reached the entrance, Tim looked back and saw Merrily walking down the hallway, off to check on another patient. He waved. She smiled widely and waved back.

"Tempted to stay, Tim?"

"No. Let's get out of here before they change their minds," Tim said, grinning.

Sarah wheeled him over to the car.

"Do you know what the best part of this is?"

"What?"

"I get to drive your Porsche."

"Don't get too comfortable in that seat, sister dearest," Tim warned as he got into the passenger side. "I'm not permanently off the driving list."

"That doesn't mean I can't enjoy it while it lasts."

"Don't wreck my car."

"No, sir." Sarah put the car in gear and pulled out of the loop. They rode in silence for a while. Tim was just happy to be out of the hospital and was looking at the scenery with something akin to awe.

"Tim? You okay?"

"Do you realize how beautiful everything is?" Tim asked softly.

Sarah looked around. They were driving through the heart of DC, on their way up to Silver Spring. She liked the city, but it wasn't particularly beautiful in this area. The snow was dirty and slushy, the trees bare, cars everywhere. "I'm not seeing it."

"It is. Believe me. It is." He laughed. "...although I have to admit that a dung heap would probably look beautiful to me right now."

"I'll see what I can do."

"We just don't appreciate these things until it's too late. Most people don't even notice the world around them. It's a backdrop to their lives. It was like that for me, but now..." Tim sat up and pointed. "...It's not just a backdrop. It _is_ life. Living doesn't mean much without it, without the people, the cars, the trees, everything." He looked over at Sarah. "I just don't want to forget that again."

"I'm glad you're here to remember it, Tim," Sarah said, not taking her eyes off the road, but she smiled.

"So am I. Maybe I could even look forward to taking it for granted again," Tim said. "But for now, I'm going to appreciate it."

"Go right ahead."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim's arrival at his apartment was as anti-climactic as he could have wished. He walked in the door, unpacked and went to bed. He had one moment while Sarah was in the kitchen. He opened his closet to see all of his currently ill-fitting clothes. Pinned to one of his pairs of pants was a note...from Ziva.

_McGee, I washed your clothing. It seemed like a good idea considering it has been hanging here gathering dust for months. I still left your underwear for someone else, but I hung up your pants as they should be. Welcome home._

_Ziva_

Tim grinned and couldn't help wondering who had put his underwear away. Then, he ate a little and went to bed. He couldn't believe how nice it felt to be out of the hospital...and here, in his apartment, he didn't have to wear the mask.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby was waiting for some search results...and she was bored. It was a slow day...apparently even crooks didn't want to commit crime when it was cold out.

Then, suddenly, her computer dinged at her. She looked over.

_McGeek: Hi, Abbs. You busy?_

Abby grinned and scooted over to the monitor quickly.

_Abbsolute: Not a bit. Does Tony know that's your username?_

_McGeek: No. And you're not going to tell him either._

Abby chuckled wickedly.

_Abbsolute: How do you know?_

_McGeek: Because you wouldn't do that to an invalid, would you? :D_

_Abbsolute: That's a low blow._

_McGeek: Did it work?_

_Abbsolute: Of course. What are you doing?_

_McGeek: Going insane. I've been home for two weeks and I'm bored out of my mind._

_Abbsolute: What have you been doing with yourself?_

_McGeek: Not much, I'm afraid. I've watched every single movie Tony foisted off on me. I think he's trying to make me dumber._

Abby laughed again and looked around to make sure no one was there to notice.

_Abbsolute: Why do you say that?_

_McGeek: I could swear that my IQ has dropped at least twenty points after watching some of that drivel._

_Abbsolute: He's being so nice to you though._

_McGeek: ...I know._

_Abbsolute: Does that bother you?_

_McGeek: No..._

"What are you thinking, Mr. McGee?" Abby muttered to herself.

_Abbsolute: Then, what's wrong?_

_McGeek: Nothing...not really._

_Abbsolute: Gosh, Tim. You can't even lie convincingly over the Internet. Spill._

_McGeek: Would you do something for me? This is going to sound so..._

_Abbsolute: So what?_

_McGeek: Silly._

_Abbsolute: I don't care._

_McGeek: Would you take a couple of pictures for me?_

_Abbsolute: Of what?_

_McGeek: The bullpen, the lab, Autopsy. I'm...homesick._

_Abbsolute: For NCIS?_

_McGeek: ...yeah._

_Abbsolute: You had but to ask._

The computer beeped some positive results and Abby looked up.

_Abbsolute: Duty calls...but I'll do that for you, Tim. No worries._

_McGeek: Thanks, Abby. I guess I'll go...do...something._

_Abbsolute: Maybe you should take up knitting._

_McGeek: Knitting?!_

_Abbsolute: It passes the time...or so I've been told._

_McGeek: I'll remember that. Bye, Abby...and thanks._

_Abbsolute: Bye, Tim. You're welcome._

The results needed to be shown anyway; so Abby grabbed her cell phone and went up to the bullpen. She gave them to Gibbs and then pulled out her phone

"Hey, guys, Tim's feeling homesick for work. Everybody smile and wave!"

Abby began a slow pan of the bullpen. Tony hammed it up and did a strange little dance. Ziva gave a short wave. Gibbs...looked up at glared.

"Abby, don't you have work to do?"

"Come on, Gibbs! This is for Tim! You could try smiling!"

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, but he came so close to smiling that Abby grinned. She then panned over Tim's desk.

"Here are all your presents from secret admirers...and..." A head poked up among all the packages. "...oh! Someone gave you a personal slave!"

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Please, come back soon, McGee," she begged. "They're driving me crazy!" But she smiled and waved.

Abby then made the trek down to Autopsy.

"Smile for Tim," she announced as she walked inside.

"What was that, Abigail?" Ducky asked, absently. He was bent over a body, as usual. Jimmy was holding...something.

"Tim needs a reminder of all he's missing here...I think this may cure him of his homesickness," Abby said. "Wave!"

Ducky looked up. "Hello, Timothy. You know, this latest body is quite fascinating. He had a split brain. Two completely separate hemispheres. It must have been a strange sensation. Actually..."

"Ducky, this doesn't have unlimited recording capability," Abby interrupted. "Say hi, Jimmy!"

"Hey, McGee. How are things going?" Jimmy asked, awkwardly, waving a bloody hand.

"Okay, I think we're done with Autopsy. Have fun, guys!" Abby traipsed back up to her lab and filmed herself.

"Hello, Tim! This is the lab! Major Mass Spec is missing your presence. See?" She flipped the phone toward it. "Doesn't he look lonesome? There's your boost for the day." Then, she sent them all off to Tim.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sitting in his apartment, Tim laughed so hard that he started crying. He sent a quick email.

_Thanks, Abby._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, Tim. Something came in the mail. It's an actual package!" Sarah announced a few weeks later. Tim had started driving himself to his appointments and that had soothed the rough days that had inevitably arisen from the siblings living together.

"From whom?" Tim asked. He was sitting at his computer, actually doing some NCIS work that could be sent to him. Nothing vital, but he was glad to be doing _something_.

"Silvia Anderson."

Tim furrowed his brow for a moment and then opened his eyes wide. "Oh." He stood up and walked over. "Let me see it."

Sarah handed it over. "What is it, Tim?"

"I think it might be..." He sat down again and opened the padded envelope. A short message and a DVD fell into his lap.

_Tim,_

_I wanted to tell you that we lost Tonya last week. For the last few days, she was in a coma and she died on the 13__th__. You made an impression on her and just before she went to the hospital for the last time, she made this little movie for you. There are some clips from Disneyworld, but most of it is what she herself wanted you to see. I hope you are getting better._

_Silvia and Matthew Anderson_

Tim's eyes welled up with tears and he sighed.

"What, Tim?"

"Remember Tonya?"

"That little girl we sang to on Christmas?"

"Yeah. She died last week. She made this movie for me." Tim picked up the DVD. "I'm going to watch it. You want to join me?"

"You watch it, first."

Tim put it in his computer and started up the DVD. The first scene was a snippet from Disneyworld. Tonya was running across a grassy area, waving up at the sky. Then, she looked into the camera and started to sing.

"_A dream is a wish your heart makes  
__When you're fast asleep  
__In dreams you will lose your heartaches  
__Whatever you wish for, you keep."_

Tim smiled and then the movie switched scenes and showed Tonya kissing Mickey Mouse, hugging Pluto, dancing with Cinderella. Finally, it switched again. She was sitting at a piano. She looked pale and thin...sick. Still, she looked up.

"_Mommy, is it on?"_

"_Yes, dearest."_

"_Okay."_

Carefully, Tonya began to play. It was simple and not very good, but then, again, she began to sing. She sang the first verse of "A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes" again and continued on. As she sang and played, small images flashed in the corner: butterflies, the ocean, mountains, palm trees, people hugging.

"_Have faith in your dreams and someday  
__Your rainbow will come smiling thru  
__No matter how your heart is grieving  
__If you keep on believing  
__The dream that you wish will come true."_

Then, there was a small bit of Tonya just playing...small chords like any new pianist would do. Then, she sang once more.

"_Have faith in your dreams and someday  
__Your rainbow will come smiling thru  
__No matter how your heart is grieving  
__If you keep on believing  
__The dream that you wish will come true."_

She stopped playing and looked toward her mother.

"_I think I'm ready to sleep now, Mommy."_

"_Okay, Tonya."_

"_Can you film me sleeping?"_

"_Why?"_

"_So that Tim knows I'm only sleeping. So he won't be sad for me."_

The tears escaped as the video switched once more to a small, thin Tonya laying in her bed, her hands pillowed beneath her head, eyes closed. Just before the end, she opened her eyes and looked at the camera sleepily.

"_Good night, Tim."_

"Good night, Tonya," Tim whispered. The video ended and Tim smiled even as he continued to cry.

"She's beautiful, Tim," Sarah said from behind him.

"Yeah. She is," Tim replied. He stood and hugged Sarah tightly. "It's not fair."

"No, it's not, but she wanted you to be happy for her, Tim."

"Yeah. Maybe tomorrow," Tim said softly.

"Don't regret surviving."

"I don't. I just wish everyone could."

"Me, too."


	23. Chapter 22: Better

**Chapter 22: Better**

The next few months passed very slowly for Tim. He was on the verge of tearing all the hair that had grown back...out again. He took walks; he typed on his book; he did a small amount of work; he went back to the hospital...a _lot_. Nearly every day in January and February, he had to go back for tests and examinations. As the weather improved and spring approached, Tim became more and more impatient, wanting to resume normal life...but he knew he couldn't. While the lethargy was nearly gone, he still was rebuilding his strength, and his white cell counts had not yet reached normal levels. He was gaining weight and he looked less like he was wearing his parents' clothes when he dressed in the morning. Still, it was all so _slow_.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Did Dr. Scott say what he was doing to you today?" Sarah asked as she got ready to leave.

"No. More poking and prodding no doubt. I still think he's a sadist," Tim grumbled. Then, he sighed. "Becoming rather grumpy, aren't I?"

Sarah smiled. "No." Tim raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Okay, yes, you are, but I know why...and you know how we all feel about it."

"You're giving me entirely too much leeway."

"Hey...isn't today the first day of spring?" Sarah asked suddenly...and randomly.

"Astronomically speaking...yes. Why?"

"Day of rebirth, Tim! Maybe today is the day that you will be suddenly..." she snapped her fingers, "...cured! Just like that."

Tim laughed. "I'm either cured or I'm not, Sarah. It's not like Schrodinger's cat. I can't be both sick and well at the same time."

"I beg to differ. If you _are_ one hundred percent cancer-free, then while you were recovering, you were both sick from the chemotherapy and such _and_ you were well because you didn't have cancer anymore. So there."

"Go to class, Sarah," Tim said, playfully shoving her to the door. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"You do that, oh wise brother of mine," Sarah retorted and then left the apartment.

It was only after she left that Tim let the smile slip from his face. He was getting better, but Sarah's talk about rebirth had brought home, once again, what Dr. Scott had told him a couple of weeks ago.

"_You're sure?" Tim asked, knowing that it was a foolish question._

"_Unfortunately, yes. Tim, that doesn't mean that you'll never be able to have kids...just that..."_

"_...that it's not very likely."_

"_Yeah."_

"_Well, we knew it was a possibility, right?"_

"_Yes. That doesn't make it any easier to tell you...or for you to take."_

"_No, it doesn't. It's funny, though, because...even though I'm not in a relationship with anyone, I've just kind of always assumed that I would get married and...be a father some day."_

"_You still could. There are so many options from adoption to in vitro fertilization, even surrogacy. Don't give up hope, Tim. You're doing really well."_

_Tim nodded and sighed._

Now, he thought about it again. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone yet...just because it was kind of an awkward topic. Low sperm counts weren't general conversation starters. Still... the vernal equinox called him outdoors and he squared his shoulders to head to the hospital...again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, so I have some good news for you today, Tim," Dr. Scott said.

"Any bad?"

"Depends on your point of view, I guess."

Tim rolled his eyes. "One of these days, you're just going to _tell_ me what you have to say without building it up."

"Not today, though."

Tim laughed. "What is it?"

"First of all..." he paused.

"Come _on_!"

"Okay. Your cell counts...are all within normal limits, at the low end of normal, but still within normal limits. At the very least, Tim, you're in remission...at best, you could be cured."

"Wow...really?" Tim wasn't sure what to say. "...but it hasn't been a year yet."

"A year is only an estimate, Tim. It's been over seven months. I'll be honest and tell you that I thought for sure you would take longer, but you seem to be intent on ruining every expectation I have had, good _and_ bad."

"Glad to help. ...so what does that mean?"

"That means a few things. We still need to wait the full year before scheduling your vaccinations, and you'll be my guest more often than you'd like, _but_ it does mean that you can start getting back to your life. Not all at once."

"...of course," Tim muttered good-naturedly.

"...but slowly. You can talk to your boss and see about easing back into work. You can start being more active. Still, stick to the schedule. We haven't seen any signs of chronic GVHD, but, unfortunately, that can still happen."

"I know...just...I mean, I've been wanting this...and I've been praying for you to say these things...but I guess, I just never really thought I'd be hearing them."

"You didn't trust me?"

"I trust you, Dr. Scott...after all, your some-odd great grandson will the engineer of the Enterprise."

Dr. Scott chuckled.

"So...what's the news that depends on my point of view?"

"Oh, that."

Tim dropped his head and then looked up and rolled his eyes. "Why me?" he said melodramatically.

"How would you feel about getting rid of that indwelling catheter?"

"Really?" Tim almost felt more excited about that than about his cell counts. "You're not kidding me, right?"

"No. Not at all. Your health is such that we don't need to do the cell counts as often. You haven't need an infusion for weeks."

"I can't tell you how happy that makes me."

"I can see it on your face," Dr. Scott said drily. "Okay. Sit tight. I'll get everything ready and we can have you tube free. You'll have to be careful of over-exertion for the next few hours...but considering you've had that stipulation for the last few months, I don't think that will be a problem."

Tim grinned, unable to feel even a small amount of annoyance in his eagerness to get rid of the last vestiges of his long hospital stay. He sat on the bed and waited. Merrily came in a few minutes later.

"Hey, Tim. Dr. Scott got called away; so, I hope you trust me to do the job right."

"Of course...how could I not?"

"All right. Take off your shirt and let's get started."

Tim did so. Then, he lay back and watched with interest as Merrily sterilized the area around his central line.

"Okay, Tim, take a deep breath and hold it for me."

Tim breathed in and watched in a kind of horrific fascination as Merrily took a firm hold of the catheter and smoothly pulled it out of his chest. She checked it over quickly and then pressed a piece of gauze over the new hole in his chest.

"Now, just breathe normally. I'll hold this here for about ten minutes and then bandage you up. Pretty painless, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm surprised."

"Not everything has to hurt."

"No, but lots of things do."

"True enough." They sat in an easy silence as Merrily checked her watch and lifted the gauze and then pressed down again. "Five more minutes. Everything looks to be fine."

"Good."

After a few more minutes, Merrily lifted the bandage nodded in approval and then bandaged up the hole.

"Okay, Tim. Now, I'll need you to stick around for half an hour more, just to make sure that there aren't any other problems. I didn't see any signs of clots or fracturing of the catheter, but it's better to be sure. I'll come back and check on you. If everything is as it should be, we'll set you free."

"That sounds great."

"Just don't go and run a mile."

"I don't think I could run a hundred yards at the moment."

"It will come."

"I know. Now, I know."

Merrily smiled.

After she left, Tim laid back and reveled in the feeling of having no cathether in his chest. It was almost strange. He'd had it there for ten months. That was a long time. Still, when Merrily came back to check on him, there were no problems and he happily left the Cancer Institute feeling light as air. As soon as he was back home, he picked up his phone.

"_Gibbs."_

"Hey, Boss?"

"_McGee. What is it?"_

"Dr. Scott just cleared me to come back to work...part time...desk duty. That okay with you?"

Gibbs, as Tim had expected, didn't sound excited, but Tim knew that he was happy to hear the news.

"_Of course. You can come and start cleaning up your desk."_

Tim grinned. "I may be more like Jardine than you'd ever want to see for a while, but there shouldn't be anything beyond that."

There was a pause. _"It will be good to have you back, McGee."_

Tim's smile, if anything, grew wider. "Thanks, Boss.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

So...Tim went back to work. It wasn't much and it more than likely didn't help NCIS all that much at first...but it helped Tim and it helped his team. The first day he stepped off the elevator, he was startled by the sound of cheering. It seemed like the entire bullpen was giving him a standing ovation...just for being at work again. Tim grinned and then looked in shock at his desk. He had seen it in the video Abby sent him, but it was amazing...there was so much stuff. He actually spent an hour going through it all. As he sat and organized it all, people stopped by just to say hello. Tony and Ziva, when they had time came and helped him open his presents.

"I wonder what's in this one," Tony said, shaking a box. "It's heavy."

"Open it and see, Tony."

Tony did so...

"What is this?"

Tim looked up and took the long piece of fabric. It seemed to be full of...

"Rice?" Tim asked.

"It is a rice heater, I believe," Ziva said.

"Oh. What do I do with it?"

"Heat it up in the microwave and use it to warm your feet."

Tim smiled. "Interesting. Is there a card on that one?"

"Nope. They probably didn't want to admit to having such an idea," Tony said.

Tim had to scout out a box, or two, to hold all the presents that didn't involve perishable items. He was now the owner of a large collection of koosh balls, a rice heater, _Indiana Jones_ and _Star Wars_ collections, a book entitled _Don't Hassel the Hoff_ along with a t-shirt that said the same thing (Tony denied all responsibility), a dozen typewriter ribbons, a set of twenty cell phone face plates (one of which was pink with rhinestones; again, Tony denied responsibility), a t-shirt that read _Killer Coding Ninja Monkeys_, another t-shirt that simply read _meh._, and a whole host of other items that Tim still couldn't believe someone had _found_, let alone given to him. By the time he could see his desk again, he felt as though he'd never been sick. He was just happy.

Gibbs wasted no time in putting him to work once his desk was clear, but Tim noticed a difference in the air as he worked. It wasn't a bad feeling. There was just a sense of...community, of closeness that perhaps hadn't been there before...at least not as strongly. It made him smile a lot more than he had thought he would. Tim was back in the world he'd been missing and it was...wonderful.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

May was drawing to a close. It was nearing one year since Tim had first been diagnosed with AML and he found that he was waiting for the date to approach with some trepidation. He had started running at the beginning of the month. Not much, just a bit, but he was working on slowly getting back to full form. He was increasing his hours at work. Dr. Scott was now mostly giving cursory examinations when Tim came in for the required checkups. The cell counts and other tests were still as thorough as ever, but most of what he did was make sure Tim wasn't trying to do too much.

On the one year mark, Tim took some time to himself. Later that night, he knew there was a "surprise" party, but there was something he wanted to do, promise he needed to keep. So, when he got done with work that day, he drove to the U.S. Botanic Gardens and made his way to the Butterfly Garden. Once he was there, he ran across it and then stopped and looked up into the sky and waved.

"I made it, Tonya," he said.


	24. Epilogue: Beating the Odds

**Epilogue: Beating the Odds**

"Okay, okay. I'll admit it, Probie. That was a good job," Tony said.

"Hurt to say that, didn't it, Tony," Tim said, grinning.

"I can't believe he _is_ saying it at all," Ziva commented, "but he is right. How did you know the ensign would go out the side door?"

Tim flushed. "Uh...well, I didn't. I just happened to be there. He nearly ran me over."

Tony started laughing.

"Does that mean you're taking it back, Tony?" Tim asked.

"Nah...I'll let you keep that one. After all, you _didn't_ let him get away."

"Thanks." Tim sat down and began to type up his report when his cell started ringing. "Hello, Special Agent McGee."

"_Hello, Special Agent McGee. This is your wife."_

"Hi, Megan!" Tim said. "What's up?"

"_I knew you'd forget!"_

"Forget what?"

"_Oh, Tim. You'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on."_

"Okay...what is it, Megan?" Tim asked, noticing that Tony and Ziva were both listening with undisguised glee.

"_I'm going to say a number, Tim. You tell me. Five."_

"Oh, crap. I forgot!"

"_Yes, we already established that. You'd better not be late."_

"No...I just have to finish up my report. How about I meet you there?"

"_I have a better idea. Angela and I will come and get you."_ She sounded stern, but Tim could tell she was smiling.

"Sounds good. See you." Tim hung up and started typing again. After about a minute, he looked up and saw Tony and Ziva staring at him.

"What?"

"What did you forget, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"Five years, Ziva," Tim said.

"Uh...Probie, you've forgotten more than that. You and Megan have only been married for three years."

Tim rolled his eyes. "No, Tony. It's been five years since my transplant. I had the blood tests last week and now, I get the results."

There was a moment of silence. Then, Tony rallied.

"So...should we be worried?"

"No," Tim said.

"_Are_ you worried?" Ziva asked.

"Yes." Absently, Tim began to rub his chest where the central line had been inserted over five years ago. "I feel fine. There's nothing to indicate that this is anything other than routine."

"Doesn't really matter, though does it," Gibbs said as he walked in.

"No, not really, Boss." Tim began to type some more. There was a solemn feeling in the air and Tim didn't like it. "Megan's bringing Angela to pick me up."

The mood immediately lightened. "All right!" Tony said. "Does Abby know?"

"I don't know. You could ask her, DiNozzo...seeing as I'm doing all the work right now," Tim said.

"I think I will." Tony jumped up and disappeared down the elevator before anyone could say anything at all.

"Five years," Ziva said, once he was gone. "That's a long time, is it not?"

"Only about 35 percent of AML patients survive five years. More than half relapse. Cure rate is even lower."

"Well, remember that the statistics are made up of individual people," Ziva said.

"I know." He went back to his report and worked hard on it for another half an hour.

Then, the elevator doors dinged and a small fireball blasted across the bullpen and launched itself into Tim's lap, all the while shouting, "Daddy! Daddy!"

"Whoa!" Tim whirled around and grabbed her, his chair turning in circles. "You'd think you hadn't seen me for ages!"

"Not since this morning!"

"Angela, you don't have to shout," Megan called as she approached much more sedately. Tim leaned up when she reached the desk and kissed her soundly.

Angela, the six-year-old fireball, looked nothing like her mother. She looked nothing like her father...except for the shade of her eyes. It was like looking in a mirror, but other than that she was as different from her adoptive parents as could be. She was small, petite with a thin face and, most noticeably, fiery red hair.

"Is Abby here?" she asked.

"Always Abby. I swear you're going to move into her apartment one of these days," Tim said and ruffled her hair.

"Daa-ddy! Don't! I spent _hours_ doing my hair."

"Ten minutes, Angela," Megan corrected.

Angela didn't even notice because Abby had just stepped off the elevator into the bullpen.

"Abby!"

"Angela!" In seconds, Angela was in Abby's arms and looking with interest at her spider-web tattoo.

"How come the spiders don't mix up your neck with their webs?"

"Because I _eat_ them all," Abby said, grinning. Another distraction came in the form of Tony sneaking around one of the cubicles acting like a dinosaur. He snatched Angela from Abby and began to tickle her mercilessly. She squealed in delight.

"Okay, Tony," Tim said. "If you don't knock it off, we'll _never_ get her to sleep tonight. We've got to go now, Angela."

"Aah..." she whined. Tim just looked at her. "Oh, fine." She jumped down from Tony's arms and ran over to Gibbs. "Hi, bye!" She kissed him on the cheek and ran to the other elevator, stopping to jump on Ziva and spin around once in her chair.

"She's so milking this for all it's worth," Tim said.

"Well, we better head out," Megan said.

"Let us know, will you?" Abby asked.

"Absolutely...but I'm sure there won't be anything to tell," Tim said.

"You're such a terrible liar, Tim," Abby said. "Even if you're right..."

Tim stuck his tongue out at her.

"And I want my _daughter _to be civilized," Megan said jokingly. "Come on, before she sets herself up as the new director of NCIS."

"Bye, guys! See you tomorrow!"

The McGees left.

"Nothing to worry about, right?"

"Absolutely."

Silence.

"If he doesn't call one of us, I say we kill him," Tony said.

"I agree," Ziva said.

"Don't kill him," Gibbs said. "That would kind of defeat the purpose would it not?"

"He'll be fine, right?" Abby asked.

"Right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're awfully quiet," Tim said as they waited in Dr. Scott's office.

"Just thinking."

"About what?" Tim asked, sliding a bit closer.

"Not _that_!"

"Not what, Mommy?" Angela asked.

"Nothing, dearie."

The door opened.

"Sorry to keep you all waiting," Dr. Scott said. "Last minute crisis. Don't ask."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tim said. "So?"

Dr. Scott grinned.

"I tell you. He's a sadist," Tim said to Megan. She smiled and put her arm around Tim's shoulder. She could tell he was trying not to be nervous.

"Okay, I won't make you wait in suspense." He paused only briefly. "Tim...I don't know how to tell you this."

Tim tried not to look frustrated. "Try using words."

"Okay. You have beaten the odds again. No trace of cancer. No sign of disease. I wouldn't be able to tell your blood tests from those of your wife."

"That means he's healthy, right?" Angela asked.

"That's _exactly_ what it means, Angela."

She squealed and kissed Tim on the cheek. "Daddy, you're all better!"

"He was all better before, Angela. Remember last year?" Megan said.

"But he's all better again!"

"Yep. Healthy as can be," Tim said. He hugged her tightly and kissed Megan. "So...same time next year?"

"That's right, Tim," Dr. Scott said. "Keep it up. I love giving good news."

"I love hearing it."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As they stepped out of the building into the summer heat, Tim sighed with relief.

"Every time we go in there, I'm always a little afraid that I won't be coming back out."

"Well, you did and you will," Megan said. "By the way..."

"Yeah?"

"There's something you should know."

"Daddy! Carry me!" Angela whined.

"You can walk, dear."

"No! It's too _ho-ot!_"

"You can walk, but I'll hold your hand," Tim said. "What should I know?"

"There's more than one way you've beaten the odds."

"What's that?"

"Remember how you told me when we first started getting serious that it was unlikely we'd ever have children of our own?"

Tim stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Megan grinned mischievously. "I don't know. What do you _think_ I'm saying?"

"Megan...are you...?"

She nodded. "Just confirmed yesterday."

"And you didn't _tell_ me?" Tim asked, but he was smiling.

"I was waiting for the right moment."

Tim grabbed her and pulled her close. "You're serious?"

"Completely." Tim was speechless. "Come on...the famous author can't think of anything to say?"

Tim shook his head.

"Aren't you happy?"

Tim started to laugh and then he kissed her, right there on the sidewalk.

"Daddy, people are staring," Angela said. "Why are you kissing Mommy?"

"Because I'm happy, dearest," Tim said, tears in his eyes. He leaned down, picked Angela up and hugged her tightly.

"Daddy, why are you crying?"

"Because I'm happy, Angela. I'm so happy."

"I guess you'll have something to tell everyone tomorrow," Megan said.

Tim just kissed her again. When they had adopted Angela, it had, in Tim's mind, been an acceptance of the fact that he wouldn't be able to father children of his own. He hadn't regretted it. Angela was a joy he wouldn't part with for anything, but now...as he walked down the sidewalk with Angela in his arms and Megan by his side, it was as though he had been given an unexpected gift. It was as if he had been healed again.

"What are you thinking, Tim?" Megan asked as they reached the car.

"How lucky I am." As they headed home, Tim knew that he was more than lucky.

He was alive.

FINIS!

_LIFE  
__Emile Bronte_

_LIFE, believe, is not a dream  
__So dark as sages say;  
__Oft a little morning rain  
__Foretells a pleasant day.  
__Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,  
__But these are transient all;  
__If the shower will make the roses bloom,  
__O why lament its fall? _

_Rapidly, merrily,  
__Life's sunny hours flit by,  
__Gratefully, cheerily,  
__Enjoy them as they fly! _

_What though Death at times steps in  
__And calls our Best away?  
__What though sorrow seems to win,  
__O'er hope, a heavy sway?  
__Yet hope again elastic springs,  
__Unconquered, though she fell;  
__Still buoyant are her golden wings,  
__Still strong to bear us well.  
__Manfully, fearlessly,  
__The day of trial bear,  
__For gloriously, victoriously,  
__Can courage quell despair!_


End file.
